


Portrait of a Victor

by sponsormusings



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Capitolite!Peeta, Catching Fire, F/M, Mockingjay, victor!Katniss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 191,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sponsormusings/pseuds/sponsormusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capitol photographer Peeta Mellark has one job. Meet, and photograph, the current Victor known as Katniss Everdeen. Capture her image in her natural environment in District 12, follow her progress along the Victory Tour. </p><p>He's not meant to fall in love. Not when the stakes are high and secrets are being kept.</p><p>(Set during the timeline of CF and MJ).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one of this story was originally a submission for Prompts in Panem (Seven Deadly Sins) - Day 7 - Envy.

The hum of the hovercraft was subtle, a soft drone that wasn't unpleasant - he was used to it by now. Travelling across Panem on a regular basis had desensitised him from most of the idiosyncrasies of flying, had made the thrill of the feeling of lifting into the air, the slight jump he’d always used to feel in his stomach, all but disappear.

The flight itself had been smooth so far, uneventful. He appreciated the fact that the weather was fine despite the dark and foreboding clouds that surrounded them, because the last thing he wanted right now was to be airsick. He needed to be smart, professional, and he certainly didn't need the faint taste and smell of vomit lingering when he arrived.

He studied the small communication device that fit in the palm of his hand, outlining his schedule for the next four weeks. Meet, and photograph, the Victor known as Katniss Everdeen. Follow her, capture her in her natural environment, show District 12 in as positive light as possible, and then follow her progress along the Victory Tour trail. There was no question - his images, his pictures during this time had to be perfect. This was his big break, after three years of agreeing to work with the production crew who travelled to District 4 for their annual Reaping. His hard work, persistence, tenacity and talent had paid off.  Peeta Mellark was no longer small time; now he was Peeta Mellark, photographer for the Presidential office.  And he was going to meet the woman who had mesmerised him from the first time he'd seen her.

_He hadn't been able to take his eyes off the screen of his comm device as she'd volunteered for her sister, her grey eyes wide and shocked, her dark hair mussed by the frantic blonde girl who wouldn't let go._

_He'd watched, his breath caught in his throat, as she was carried in a chariot of flames, its fiery orange and yellow and red fingers twisting around her body, even as they reached out for him through the screen, twirling and tangling around his heart until he knew he was a goner._

He'd spent the next 6 months working every possible hour of every day, desperate to land this assignment, and when Cressida had given him the good news a month ago, he knew it wasn't by chance. He was meant to go to District 12. He was meant to do this job.  He was meant to meet Katniss Everdeen.

********

He stepped from the Hovercraft, declining an escort from the Co-Pilot to her home in Victor's Village. It was only at the end of the street, he reasoned, and his camera equipment wasn't heavy. He'd grown up carrying bags of flour around, after all, at the artisan bakery his parents ran in the most fashionable quarter in the Capitol.

The air smelt different in this part of Panem.  In the Capitol, the air was heavy, full of scents that were foreign and fake - musky perfume, artificially grown flowers, the powders and paints and inks that decorated citizens’ bodies. He'd always hated it, had found it cloying and suffocating. Here, it was light, fresh, somehow the scent of grass lingering even though his feet crunched over layers of snow.  He envied them that - the open spaces, the crisp air, the sun that seemed so much brighter and real here.  He supposed it might be different in the poorer parts of the town - where he knew Katniss Everdeen had grown up - with a thin layer of coal dust permeating the air, but he wasn't here to photograph that. That had been Katniss Everdeen, resident of the Seam, daughter of Alice and James Everdeen.  Now she was Katniss Everdeen, resident of Victor’s Village, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games. And _that_ was who he was here to photograph.

Peeta hitched the strap of his camera case more securely onto his shoulder, eyeing the ground warily - he wasn't used to weather like this in the Capitol, where their streets would be lucky to have a millimetre of snow dusting their street before it was discreetly swept away. And this camera was worth more than his life, Cressida had reminded him on more than one occasion before he'd departed. So he was even more careful than usual as he made his way under the fanciful wrought iron sign that announced his arrival in the Capitol designed part of town.

The street ahead of him was barren, lifeless, a sea of white and grey. He was surprised, to say the least.  He knew the village had at least 4 residents now - Katniss, her mother and sister, and Haymitch Abernathy, the drunk and laughing stock of the Capitol that _everyone_ had heard of. But, as a cool wind swept past played havoc with his blonde waves and made him hug his pale blue jacket closer to his body, he didn't expect it to feel _dead_.

Of course, that's exactly how he felt when he reached the edge of the path leading to the Everdeen's home and found the Mockingjay herself guarding the door, her arms folded and lips formed in a perfect scowl. He'd never seen a more piercing and hate-filled gaze in his life.

He wondered if this was going to be a harder assignment than he'd first thought.

********

Primrose Everdeen was more welcoming than her sister, which wasn't a hard feat to accomplish. They were polar opposites in every possible way, except maybe for their obvious love for the other.

He realised Prim, as she'd insisted on being called, might be a bigger ally through all of this than he first thought.

Conversation was stilted as they sat in the Everdeen's sitting room, delicate china cups balanced on their laps. Katniss had elected to stand by the fireplace, and didn't utter a word, her arms folded across her chest and her tea cooling in her untouched cup. He wasn’t sure what it said of him that he found the heat of her glare so surprisingly tempting.

"So in short, Mrs Everdeen," he finished, as he placed his cup back on the smooth wooden coffee table, "I'm here to trail Katniss for a few days. The stylists and crew will be here the day the train is due to leave and I'm certain they will capture some more stylised images. But the Capitol loves their Victors, and they can never have enough - they’re always curious about their everyday lives.  That’s why I’m here.  Basically, I'm just looking to photograph the three of you in your natural environment, very casual, very laid back." He laughed as Prim's eyes lit up. "Mostly Katniss of course, but the two of you as well, if you'll allow it."

He heard Katniss snort, and glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "Like you need our permission anyway. You'll do it regardless," she snapped, her silver eyes icy and cold.  He heard Alice Everdeen's sharp intake of breath and held a hand up in her direction, never taking his eyes off the fiery woman in front of him.

"You're right," he acquiesced.  "I'll take photos of you regardless, Katniss, because as Victor, it's your duty. Out of respect for your family, however, I will ask them. They can say no, I have no problems with that." She eyed him sceptically, and he couldn't blame her. Peeta knew what she saw when she looked at him.  But he, unlike so many in the Capitol, understood that there was something inherently wrong with the games, that it was something no-one should have to endure.  That’s why he was here.

But in the meantime, he had a job to do and bills to pay.

"So I'll only ask once, and I won't bother your family again if the answer is no. Will you allow it, Katniss?" He waited for her to argue, as he expected her to; he’d done his homework after all.  But he watched, fascinated, as her fingers clutched tightly against the polished ledge of the fireplace, her knuckles pale against her olive skin and the dark wood. They stared at each other intently, gazes locked, neither willing to back down. Her jaw was set, but he could see the slight quiver in her chin. Her eyes were furious and cold, but lost. Then confused, and he could see the way her foot began to tap, the way her fingers flexed and strained.  He felt the wave of awkwardness settle over him, and wondered how and when the shift between them had occurred, how on earth it had crept up on him so unexpectedly.  And if Alice and Prim noticed it, or whether it was only blindingly obvious to him.  It crackled like the fire in the grate, a snapping and sparking he hadn't really expected to be so fierce. Being preoccupied by someone from afar was one thing. Having their eyes bore into you while you suddenly felt like you couldn't breathe was another.

"Fine. I'll allow it," she finally snapped, and looked away, her cheeks flushed, awkwardly clearing her throat. He looked back at the friendlier Everdeen's, and smiled, determined to make it as easy as possible despite the twisting of his gut and the fire in his blood.

"So," he asked. "Who wants to be first?"

********

_Peeta Fucking Mellark._

She could hear Prim’s giggles from the kitchen, as she and their mother obviously played to the camera. It was absurd, ridiculous, and a thousand other adjectives she couldn't even begin to think of. All she’d wanted was a final four days of peace before she was paraded about the country, waving and smiling while she continued to splinter and die on the inside. Instead she had some pretty boy from the Capitol invading her space, _their_ space, with his blonde hair that perfectly framed his chiselled cheeks and jaw, and the eyes that were as bright and stunning as the sapphire jewels she’d seen in the Capitol. As he was surprisingly free of the usual Capitolite adornments, she supposed these obviously fake blue eyes were his concession to whatever current fashion was popular.

She threw herself on her bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing she were anywhere but here. No, not anywhere, she clarified to herself.  She wished she were in the woods, where she could think and feel, and was the only place she could feel remotely like _her_ , not a puppet. But while Peeta was here - _and what kind of damned name was Peeta anyway?_ \- she would have to stay out of the woods. After all, that was the _last_ place she needed to be photographed, the last place the Capitol needed to know about.

But it was the one place that was still, undoubtedly, hers.

She heard a shutter snap, and with a start she sat up quickly, glancing towards the door. He stood there, leaning against the jam, the fancy silver camera clutched in his hands as he lowered it from his face. "Sorry," he said, though there was very little apology in his tone. "I had to. It was the first time I've seen you off guard today."

Pushing herself off the bed, she scowled; stalking over to her cupboard and yanking out the ancient jacket she refused to give up. "What do you want?"

He shrugged, holding his hands up in a motion of peace offering. "I think we got off on the wrong foot-"

"Oh really?" She retorted. She couldn't help it, it was automatic. She'd felt her back go up, her teeth set on edge  the minute she'd seen him trudging up the snow lined street, his blonde hair and blue jacket like a beacon in a darkened sea.

Or so she imagined. She'd never seen the sea. Not yet, anyway.

He sighed.  "Look, I'm aware you only found out about me coming last week and I know you would prefer to spend this time with your family. But if you just work with me, we can make this as painless as possible, it doesn't have to be hard."

"Nothings going to be as hard as that arena was," she spat, and she watched his face harden. Katniss wondered if she'd gone too far, if she'd overstepped the mark. He _was_ from the Capitol after all, and she’d already done enough to put President Snow and the Gamemakers offside. But she had to watch with admiration as he took one deep breath and schooled his features back into an unreadable mask.

"Let's go for a walk," he suggested suddenly, as though she hadn't snapped at him for about the tenth time already. She stared at him, to see his angle, but all she could see was those eyes and the firm set of his jaw.

"Fine," she replied after a long beat of silence, and brushed past him, stomping down the stairs.

If she felt a shiver run up her arm as she did so, it was surely only static electricity from her jacket coming into contact with his.

"Mom, Prim, we're going out," she called from the back door, as she yanked her boots from the closet and tugged them on her feet, not even bothering to lace them. She didn't wait for an answer as she stalked out the door, or for Peeta to catch up.

She trudged over the snow, her feet moving surprisingly nimbly over the sodden ground. She could hear his heavy footsteps and heaving of breath as he tried to catch up with her.

"Katniss, wait," he called. "I have to be careful with this camera equipment, it’s expensive."

"Don't care," she tossed over her shoulder. She didn't know what it was, but everything about him made her want to bite his head off every time he spoke, while her stomach twisted into nervous knots. She supposed she should be more polite, more agreeable, as was befitting a Victor. But they were two things she rarely was. And if he was so offended by her behaviour, he would have called her on it by now.

Or called a Peacekeeper.

So she figured she was safe.

She continued to make her way towards the centre of town, but at the last minute circumvented around it. She was going to take him to the meadow. She didn't want him in the Seam, where it still felt like home and he had no right to be, and she didn't want him in Town, where nosy busybodies would likely see him and make a fuss.

No, if she had to do this, she was going to dictate it on her terms, and the meadow it was going to be.

As she reached the meadow - covered in snow, not a strip of green or wildflower in sight - she turned to him and shrugged her shoulders. While he wasn't huffing and puffing - for a Capitol bore, he was at least a little fit - he was definitely glowering at her as he drew closer.

"Where the hell are we?" He snapped, and she couldn't help the perverse satisfaction she felt at his annoyance.

"My natural environment," she replied simply. She sat down on a large rock that sat on the edge of the meadow and looked up at him. "Take your photos then."

He sighed, and glanced around him. "Katniss, the idea for these is that I capture _you_. Not a posed photo of you. You, while you aren't aware. Like your mom and Prim. Yes, they knew I was there, but they didn't pose for me. And I don't want that from you either."

"What _do_ you want from me, then?"

She watched as his throat bobbed, as he bit down on his bottom lip and his fingers clenched around the camera. And despite the frigid winter air that surrounded her, she felt that _thing_ again, the thing that had all but sucked the life out of the room back in Victor's Village.

Katniss wanted to drag her gaze away, wanted to look away and dismiss him. But she couldn't tear her eyes from his. The silence was deafening, and stretched on endlessly.  She wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other, had no idea how long everything around her stopped. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours; she had no idea.  Her heart raced, a sprint that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

What the _hell_ was this?

She yanked her gaze away and shook her head, scowling - her best line of defence. "Will you just answer me?" She demanded as she stared at the ground.

"I just want your photo, Katniss.”  The reply was soft. "The sooner you relax and act like you normally would, the better off we'll be."

“Fine.”  With a shrug and a curt nod, she pulled herself up off the rock and stood in the middle of the meadow. Without her bow and arrow, and her woods, she really had nothing else to give.

The photos, she determined, were going to be the most boring the Capitol had ever seen.

********

She was the most infuriating subject he'd ever had to capture.

She was the most annoying subject he'd ever had to capture.

She was the most incredible subject he'd ever had to capture.

He’d tried, he really had, over the last three days to get her defences down, to get her to at least talk to him. Talking to her during this time was just as important - if not _more_ \- than actually taking her picture.  But she was as stubborn as she was prickly, and she shut down any attempt at a conversation. So he'd simply trailed her, not saying a word and just waiting for a _moment_.

He'd captured her in her snow-packed front yard, mid-argument with Haymitch. He'd snapped her laughing as she watched Prim milk an obstinate Lady, and as she'd longingly looked towards the trees behind her home as she sat on the back porch with the mayor's daughter.

But he still didn't have the shot he wanted, the one who confirmed to him who Katniss Everdeen _was_.

He exited the house at the end of the street in the Village, the one that had been allocated for Capitol employees during any official visits during the Mockingjay's 'reign'. He'd left her alone while she spent some time with her family, had agreed to a reprieve from being her shadow.

At first he’d taken the time to catch up on some correspondence, to confirm his status, and how the assignment was progressing.  He’d scrolled through updates, had read an article in _Capitol Couture_ where Cinna outlined his progress on her outfits for the tour.  But he'd still spent most of the 2 hours thinking about her. Being this close to Katniss had done nothing but strengthen his interest in her.

He thought about how strong she was, how aloof she was, how oblivious she was to the effect she had on those around her. Prim came alive, and even the quiet, staid Alice seemed to be a different person in her presence. Haymitch was protective, his Seam grey eyes staring at Peeta beadily until he'd had to avert his gaze guiltily, feeling as though the Mentor could see every impure thought he’d ever had of the dark-haired girl over the last six months. The school friend, Madge, who seemed more like Prim in looks and countenance but could exchange a wicked grin with Katniss that hinted at a joke they'd shared that no one else needed to know. And her _friend_ , the tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired man who was introduced as her best friend, and looked at her a little too much and a little too closely.

The intense jealousy that filled Peeta was overpowering, swallowing him whole and leaving him annoyed and frustrated. And it was ridiculous really; they were just friends.

Apparently.

It wasn’t even Gale alone that made him envious, though.  It was the tight, close-knit bonds she had, this support group that would do what they could to protect her.  She didn’t realise it, was quite oblivious to it, but it was obvious to him. Katniss had offered her life to save her sister. These people would do what they could to keep her safe now.  And that was something he’d never had, and probably never would.  His family was typically Capitol - all show, no substance, and very removed. They didn’t need him.  

He trudged up the front steps of the Everdeens, annoyed at himself for letting his thoughts roam to a place he normally tried to avoid, and pressed the doorbell that played a tune whose name was but a long forgotten memory. And waited. And waited.

And waited.

He tested the knob and it turned swiftly in his hand, the door opening onto the darkened, silent hall. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his feet padding across the thick carpet that muffled any and all sound.

There wasn't a single noise in the house.

He continued to make his way down the hall, past the sitting room, past the formal dining room and the library, until he was in the kitchen. He moved upstairs, peering into bedrooms and bathrooms, and had to fight the urge to spend longer in Katniss’ room.  There was no-one here.  The house was empty.

She’d given him the slip.

With a barely restrained curse, he stormed out the front door. It was ridiculous. He was just here to do his job.  All she had to do was let him take a few photos - as was her duty - and then they’d be on the tour, and he would just be observing her from afar.  All he’d needed was her cooperation for the 4 damned days he was here; after that, she was free to be as stubborn as she damn well wanted to be.

“Hey kid!”

He looked up to see the old mentor leaning against one of his porch posts in the house across the street, one hand shoved in a pocket, the other clutching a flask.  

“What?” Peeta snapped as he crossed to the property fence.

“Ooo-hoo!” Haymitch hooted.  “What’s got your Capitol panties in a twist?”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m Effie Trinket, Haymitch.”

“You're no Effie Trinket, kid, you ain’t showing me no manners right now. What’s up your ass?”

Peeta glared at him, then realised maybe the old man could help.  “Where is she?”

“Where’s who?”

“Katniss,” Peeta replied through clenched teeth.  “I’m here to see Katniss, and she’s not home.  Where is she?”

Haymitch stroked his chin lazily, his rheumy grey eyes dancing with what some might call merriment. Others would know better.  “Well, I know Alice and Blondie went on down the Seam - the oldest Thornhill girl went into labor just this afternoon. Katniss may have gone with them…..” he trailed off, eyes darting off to the left, then right, then back to him again, and Peeta instinctively knew Katniss wasn’t in the Seam.

“I’m here to do a job, Haymitch,” he replied which, he knew in this instance, was the right reply to have.  “Do you want me to report you, as well as her, for not following Capitol directive?”

“Woo-hoo, _Capitol directive_ ,” Haymitch echoed.  “Sounds so _official_.”

With a roll of his eyes, Peeta turned on his heel, but Haymitch’s voice stopped him before he could get too far.

“You’re not what I expected, you know.”

Peeta turned, eyebrow raised, trying to keep his temper banked.  “Oh? And what did you expect?”

“I didn’t expect a kid,” came the short reply.  Peeta shrugged.

“I’m 22.  Old enough to be a professional.”

“You must be good at your job then.”

“I am.”

“They must have a lot of faith in you.”

“They do. I’ve earned it.”

Their conversation was loaded, though anyone listening would be none the wiser.  Haymitch shrugged, then took a pull from the flask.  “Might as well wait it out, kid, no point huffing about. She’ll be back... soon enough.”

Something in the mentor’s tone tipped him off, and his stomach dropped to his feet in realisation; he had to fight not to clench his jaw in annoyance.   _He should have known - she was out with Gale.  That damned friend was going to be the death of him._ With a curt nod of his head, he stalked back to his lodgings and booted up his secondary comm device.  He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for her - he had people to talk to, things to take care of.

********

She’d been gone for too long, she knew it.  She’d known it was risky, knew she could blow her only remaining entry into the woods by doing it.  But the world felt like it was crushing her, pulling and stretching her inside out. So she’d snuck into the woods with Gale, had bagged two squirrels that, while not exactly robust, would be enough to make a decent stew.  Had been able to breathe a little bit easier with her bow in her hands.

Being as far away from Peeta Mellark as possible also helped.  The man set her on edge, made her chest feel tight and her stomach churn.  But she’d taken too long, had taken advantage of her escape.  She knew he’d ask her questions, would probably be pissed.

So she was surprised when she turned the final corner into Victor’s Village and saw him crouched by the edge of the Capitol house, camera held to his face as he focused it on a twisting vine that reached above his head and skirted along the trellis of the second floor. She stayed still, and silent, as she watched him, mesmerised by the concentration on his face, the way the tip of his tongue stuck out of his mouth as he bit on it absently, the way a single lock of hair fell across his forehead.  She was surprised at the tug in her belly, at the twisting nerves that climbed through her from fingertip to toe as she watched him.  She imagined whatever he was photographing was like her hunted prey; it had her undivided attention, it was all she thought of, cared of, until it was hers.

Like it or not, after 3 days Peeta Mellark no longer just annoyed her, or frustrated her.  He fascinated her.

He shifted on the balls of his feet, and stood with his back to her, a long line that tapered from wide shoulders to a slim waist.  The jacket he wore didn’t disguise it, and she assumed that’s what Capitol designers went for.  But it made her curious.  Did Gale have a back like that? she mused, trying to picture it. She’d never bothered to look.

She’d never really wanted to.

Katniss thought of all the ways Peeta had relentlessly tried to strike up conversations with her over the last few days, how he’d bestowed that charming smile upon everyone, how Prim had become hopelessly enamoured. How he’d silently studied her, and she’d felt the flutter just below her breastbone whenever she caught him.  And despite her best intentions to ignore the man from the Capitol, she found herself weakening, her resolve crumbling around her.  In many ways, he reminded her of Cinna.  From the Capitol, but not _of_ the Capitol.  He was one of them, but he wasn’t.

She watched as he straightened and stretched, hooking the camera strap securely around his neck.  In one swift move he’d climbed up onto the railing that surrounded the porch and pulled himself up until he was sitting on it’s shingled roof, his legs dangling off the edge.  He raised the camera again, and even from this far away, in the still of the late afternoon and as the sun began to set behind the mountains, she could see the pure, unadulterated happiness of what he did on his face.  She was jealous that he still had that - his freedom, his happiness, the life he was used to.  She wanted him.

_What?_

She was so taken aback by the thought she choked on her own breath.

But by then she couldn’t look away, couldn’t dislodge the thoughts of him that had suddenly embedded themselves in her head.  It was ridiculous.  Falling for someone had never been in her plans.  She had no intention of getting married, having her children contribute slips of white paper into the reaping bowl. Didn’t want to run the risk of becoming her mother.  Didn’t want to risk her heart, or her sanity.  But being attracted to someone, a virtual stranger, after only three days?

Unacceptable.  Beyond ridiculous.  Impossible.

_Highly damned likely_.

So she stayed, and watched, via the cover of the snow covered greenery, as he sat or stood at various angles on the porch roof, taking what she could only assume were pictures of the Village, of her home. She wondered what it would be like for him to look at _her_ with such concentration, such open happiness. He held the camera so delicately, as if it was the most important item in the world. She wondered what it would be like to be held that way, what it would feel like to have his hands on her. What it would feel like to have his arms pull her to him, feel his broad back under her fingertips. Lust curled in her belly, twisting and turning until she was full of knots, needy and wanting and _frustrated that she was feeling; feeling this way, feeling this at all._

_Feeling want and need and desire for someone from the damned Capitol._

She whirled, and stomped away towards her house, hating every thought in her head.

But hating even more that she _liked_ having them in her head.

********

He’d known she was there.

He’d caught her out of the corner of his eye.  While she’d shown to be quite the huntress in her games, swift and quiet and nimble, he saw more than he let on. And he’d seen her as he’d pivoted to take in the orange streaks of sunset as it curled over the mountains in the distance.

She’d been silent, but it had been her eyes that burned into him as he’d continued to frame and adjust his filter and click when the image he saw felt right.  It was like a slow heat, like that of a summer sun rather than the quick lick of a flame, that overtook him, that all but consumed him. It made sense.

She _was_ the Girl on Fire, after all.

He didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t show that he knew she was there. He was intrigued, intrigued enough that the last element of anger and envy he’d been holding onto all afternoon ebbed away. He didn’t know why she was there, or why she stayed so long, or why her gaze was so intent on him.

But he smiled to himself as he heard her huff, the snow crunching under her feet as she spun on her heel.

And he turned to capture her, a lone hunter stalking down the middle of a deserted village.

********

“These past few days have gone so quickly!” Prim commented, as she passed the bowl heaped with steaming potatoes to Peeta. He smiled as he accepted it from her; Katniss rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“It has.  I’m very honoured you allowed me to stay for this meal.”

“You didn’t give us much of a choice,” Katniss retorted around a mouthful of beans.  Effie’s protestations of manners had fallen on deaf ears.

“Oh, Katniss, don’t be silly.  Peeta’s been wonderful to have here. He’s so different from everyone else I’ve seen from the Capitol!” Prim admonished.  

“That’s only because my skin colour isn’t green,” he grinned in reply, and Katniss scoffed. She couldn’t help it.  Before, she’d instinctively been obnoxious because she didn’t like him.  Now she was obnoxious because she _did_ like him.

They’d had this meal planned for months - a family dinner before Katniss undertook her trip back to the Capitol.  It was a full house, with the Everdeens, Haymitch, the Hawthornes and Madge all in attendance - those she was closest to, those who had been there for her upon her return.  Peeta had been sitting alone on his front porch when Prim had spotted him, and enthusiastically extended an invitation.

Katniss would have reneged on the offer if she’d known about it.

But the night had started out well enough, she supposed.  Hazelle and Alice had been happily putting the finishing touches on the meal, Peeta and Haymitch had been whispering furiously on the back porch - almost looking guilty when she’d interrupted them at one stage - while she and Prim and the youngest Hawthornes watched as Madge soundly trumped Gale in a game of chess.

Then the meal had begun, Peeta’s blue eyes stared at her from across the table, and everything had annoyed her from there.

“Everyone from the Capitol is the same, Prim, regardless of whether they’re green or not,” Gale muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Haymitch snorted into his potatoes, while Prim glowered at him. Hazelle and Alice looked at each other in horror.

“I would have to disagree with you, Gale,” she heard Peeta speak up lightly.  “But that your opinion and you are welcome to it.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“This is hilarious,” Haymitch laughed.  He glanced at Katniss.  “Mighty good company you keep, sweetheart.”

With a groan of frustration, she pushed back her chair, throwing her napkin on her plate. “This is a waste of time. I’m going outside.” Katniss stalked out of the room and out the back door, not even bothering to close it behind her. She could hear the scraping of chair legs and a murmur as her mother started to get up, before Hazelle quietly told her to let her be. She kept walking, walking until she’d reached the end of her yard, where the small woods that separated Victor’s Village from the Mayor’s property began. She wished she’d grabbed her coat against the chill of the evening, but she’d been so intent of getting away from Peeta, from Haymitch, from Gale, she hadn’t thought otherwise.

She  couldn’t believe she was wasting her last night before the Victory Tour sulking beside the wood.

“You don’t want to catch a cold.” His smooth voice broke through the still of the night, and she felt the heavy weight of her winter coat as it was draped across her shoulders. She half turned to him, and glared.

“Why did you get the honours?” She asked bluntly.

“I told them it was my job to get you in one healthy piece to the stylists tomorrow.  Gale practically shot daggers at me, but he couldn’t very well argue on that point.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t even understand what you mean,” she sighed, reluctantly slipping her arms through the sleeves and shrugging the jacket on properly. “Gale always looks like that.”

He glanced down at her, surprised, then a small smile tugged at his mouth.  “You really have no idea, do you?”

“What?” she asked defensively.  

Peeta shook his head, chuckling softly.  “Never mind.  I’m sure you’ll find out one day.”

“Tell me what you mean,” Katniss demanded.

“No,” he replied firmly.

She felt anger bubbling up inside her, frustrating spilling over, and she reached out, pushing him in the shoulder.  He hardly budged. “ _Tell me_.”

“If you don’t know, Katniss, I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’m your damned Victor, Peeta Mellark, tell me what I want to know.”

She was surprised as she watched the anger spark and flare in his eyes.  “So you’re a Victor when it suits you, are you?  You’re not a Victor when I want a damned photo of you, but the minute you want your way, that’s your excuse?” He yanked at the camera bag hanging - it seemed permanently - from his shoulder, pulling the camera from it and punching the button to turn it on. She wanted to remind him sarcastically to be careful because it was expensive, but something told her to keep her mouth shut.

He turned the camera towards her, the screen lit up for her to see - it was a picture he’d obviously taken.  It was beautiful, really, a snow covered town that belonged in the old fairy tales her mother had told her as a child, remembered from her own grandmother.  The sun just setting behind it, it’s golden rays shining through the trees, hitting the glass windows of one of the homes so that a flash of light sparked on the left hand side of the picture.  A lone person walked up the middle of the street, purpose and intent evident in their stride and ramrod posture.  But that’s what they were - alone. No-one else was left.  It was just them.

And then she realised it was her.

She looked up, wide-eyed, as he snapped it closed again and shoved it back into the case.  “You’re as alone as you are in that picture, Katniss, and it doesn’t need to be that way. You have a mother and sister that love you, a mentor that is protective and…..and a guy who loves you as well.”

“Who?” Katniss said dumbly, though her throat constricted.  She was afraid she knew what he was going to say, and it wasn’t the person she wanted.

“Gale, Katniss,” Peeta huffed out impatiently, and she cringed. “You don’t need to be alone, you don’t need to carry your burdens on your own.  He’ll be there for you.  They all will.  Stop shutting them out. You-”

She cut him off, pointed a finger into his chest.  “You think you know me?!  You know nothing about me. Burdens?  Try carrying the burden of 23 other children dead because of me.  Try carrying the knowledge that all I’m going to be doing for the next few weeks is facing the families of those kids, looking into their eyes as they _hate_ me. Try carrying that, you asshole.” Her voice broke, and she turned, storming off into the first depths of the trees. She hated the fact that he’d made her break, hated the fact that he’d made her feel, made her remember, made her picture Rue’s face.

Hated the fact that she wanted _,_ almost desperately needed,to share the burden.  But with _him_ , not Gale.

A hand encircled her wrist, turning her around, and she was face to face with those damn fake eyes again. “Let _me_ help you, then,” he whispered imploringly.

Even though it was what she wanted to hear, she turned on her defences.  “Why?  So you can mock me?  So you can go back to the Capitol and tell President Snow and all your friends how _weak_ the ‘Mockingjay’ is?  Oh yes,” she said bitterly, seeing the surprise in his eyes.  “I’ve heard about them calling me that.  All because of a pin.  Imagine what they’d say if they saw their Victor now.”

“I….” he trailed off, and fell silent.  She was shocked.  It was the first time she’d seen him at a loss for words.

“See?” she shook her head.  “I told you so.”  She shook her hand free, but it seemed to awaken him from his stupor, and he reached up, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“No.  No, you don’t see, Katniss.  I don’t agree with everything the Capitol does.  I may work for them, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.  Did I enjoy watching as you cried yourself to sleep at night after Rue died?  Did I enjoy watching as you fought with the boy from two, worrying that you’d be hurt, that you’d die?” His voice, and eyes were wild, and she was taken aback at his words.  “I was captivated by you the moment I saw you volunteer for Prim, the minute that chariot carried you into the Capitol. I’ve spent the last six months trying to get this assignment so I could come here, to see if you were real, to make sure you were ok, to find out…..” he trailed off, and this time it was she who grabbed his wrist.

“To find out what?” she demanded. Panic and terror, real and uninvited clutched at her chest.   _Where was he going with this?_

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied.  “I just want to help. To...to be there for you.”

The air was still around them, the woods quiet except for their breaths, hurried and fast, small puffs of cool smoke in the winter night.

Finally she sighed.  “There’s nothing you can do for me, Peeta.  Go away.  There’s nothing more for you here.  Just leave me alone.”

Peeta dropped his hands from her shoulders, his eyes searching hers.  He took one backwards step, then two, then turned and began to walk away.  She cursed the hitch in her chest.

Then suddenly he was stalking back to her and his hands were on her face, in her hair, on her hips and his mouth was on hers, hot and wanting and needy and she couldn’t catch her breath.

She didn’t even want to.

She didn’t argue, didn’t put up a fight as he backed her up against a tree, its bark rough and uneven against her back, even through layers of clothing.  It did nothing but heighten the sheer need and want that tore through her, that made her hands reach up and yank at the blonde hair at the nape of his neck, that made her hips involuntarily plunge towards his.

The moan that he echoed against her mouth shot straight to her core.

Peeta’s hand slid up her waist and underneath her jacket, his fingers splaying over her ribs and the cotton shirt she wore. His fingertips brushed the underside of her breast, and she leaned into him more, trying to shift so that his hand would cover her, so her hips would align with his, to give some relief to the need that was ripping through her.

And then he did shift his hand, and his hips bumped against hers, and everything inside her exploded at such a simple change.

His tongue slid across her lips, encouraged her to open her mouth, for their tongues to tangle and possess.  Even through her haze of lust, she felt inexperienced, unsure, but his moves seemed to guide her, seemed to show her instinctively what she needed to do.  And with the soft whimpers he was eliciting, she knew he was as affected as she was, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She dragged her mouth away from his, as much to catch her breath as to look at him.  They stood, breath coming quick and fast and shallow. His heart pounded against hers and everything inside her throbbed with need.  And then she saw the light dim in his eyes, and the horror filter in. Her throat locked as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Katniss, we…..I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that.”

The fury burned through her quicker than wildfire, her words snapping out before she could even think.  “Of course.   _Of course_.  Not even a _Victor_ is good enough for someone from the Capitol.  Fuck you, Peeta.  Leading me on like that?  I hate you.  And everything you stand for.  I should have known better.  You’re just like them.  You’re Capitol after all, you and your fake smile and your fake charm and your damned fake blue eyes.”

“No! No, it’s not like that at all!” His hand reached out for her again, but she yanked her arm out of his reach.  The anger blazed in her eyes, and it was enough to make him hesitate.

“Get away from me,” Katniss hissed, and took a step back.  “I’m glad.  Because I never wanted to like you in the first place.  Prim is the only person I will ever love, ever care about, so thank you _so much_ , for reminding me about that.  Everything I do, is for Prim.  Including this.  You’re dead to me, Peeta Mellark.”  With a final snarl, she turned, and ran into the woods.

She refused to look back.

********

He was restless, couldn’t sleep.  He just kept thinking of Katniss’ face as they’d pulled out of the station at 12, as she’d raised a hand in farewell to the crowd, but he’d known it was really only for Prim.  Prim was all that mattered.

She’d made that abundantly clear.  But he supposed he’d deserved it, after what he’d done.

Peeta hadn’t gone back inside the Everdeens the night before.  It was best he let that lie, and had returned to his house, packing up his belongings, his equipment and comms devices.  He’d swept everything down, leaving no trace of himself behind.  He wanted it to be like he’d never been there at all.  It was the least he could do after handling things so badly, and possibly screwing up the assignment entirely.

Cressida, not to mention Plutarch, was going to be bitterly disappointed.  He wished he’d been able to tell her, wished he’d been able to share what his real motivation was.  He’d needed to tell her.  It didn’t matter if it had ruined everything, if everything he’d worked towards had fallen apart. Being with her, always, was what mattered.  He should have told her before he kissed her, because that had thrown him too much for a loop, and after that he hadn’t been able to think straight.  Then he’d blown it.  Blown it all.

Whether Katniss had mentioned anything to her mentor or not, her behaviour towards him on the train hadn’t been subtle.  Peeta had felt the glares from her, from Haymitch, even from Effie, from wherever they were on the train - he’d eventually given up being in any of their presence, and had sequestered himself in his room, cataloguing his photos and documenting his trip.  But eventually hunger had gnawed at his gut, and he’d ventured out when he was certain - or at least hoped - they would no longer be about. He was thankful to find the buffet car empty, but the table still piled with food.

Later, with his stomach full but his nerves still on edge, he moved from the car and wandered down the corridor back towards his room, catching the muffled sounds of a hologram soap opera in Effie’s room, nothing but snores from Haymitch’s.  The purr of the train was different to a Hovercraft, and it unsettled him, didn’t give him the same kind of comfort.  It felt wrong being on here, and he wondered if this was how every single tribute had felt on their way to the Capitol.

The train jolted slightly, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, his nerves begin to hum. Something didn't feel right, something was wrong, something was-

"NO!! NO!"

The scream pierced the air, and he broke out in a sprint down the corridor, not caring if he made a noise, not if someone was in there attacking Katniss. _What if Snow's plans had changed? What if someone had gotten here-_

He got to her door, pressing frantically at the button to open it.  He was thankful it was unlocked, and as it slid open, he barrelled through, only to find her alone, thrashing in the sheets as they tangled around her body. Her back was bowed up off the bed, her cheeks stained with tears, sobs tearing from her throat. But she was asleep; her eyes clenched shut, her brow marred with lines.

He didn't even think as he took the two strides to her bed and gathered her in his arms.  He didn’t care what she’d said in her backyard, didn’t think about the pure hatred that she’d all but thrown at him.  The pain and agony in her cries overrode everything in his head.

“Katniss….shh….Katniss…..It’s just a dream….shhh, wake up….” he said softly as he rocked her gently. She continued to moan a little, her hands clutching at the sheets, her feet pressing and kicking against the mattress. But within seconds, her eyes were wide and horrified, and she was pushing at him, pushing and shoving him away from her.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” she gasped, pulling herself into a sitting position, yanking her pillow against her stomach and gripping it tightly. Her eyes were wild, her hair tangled.

“You….you were screaming in your sleep,” he muttered.  “I thought you were being attacked, and…..I came in and you were here…..” he trailed off as his cheeks reddened. He hadn’t noticed until now the thin silk tank she wore, its strap hanging worryingly off her shoulder. He looked away.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, gulping in a deep breath of air, her fingers pressing and flexing against the pillow.  “Get out.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“ _Now._ ”

The glowered at each other, a battle of wills.

********

She _hated_ him being in here.  She felt vulnerable, embarrassed, alone.  

Rejected.

“Katniss, I’m not going anywhere,” he said forcefully, but then his voice gentled, softened.  “You’re not fine.  What were you dreaming about?”

She was quiet for a moment, regaining her breath as she stared blankly at the wall, her sweat matted hair sticking to her forehead, and the nape of her neck. When she spoke, she knew she sounded defeated.  Because she was. “It wasn’t a dream, Peeta. I don’t have something as simple as dreams.” When she looked back at him, her eyes were as empty as her voice.  “But that’s not what someone like you wants to hear, is it?  You Capitol people don’t care.”

She watched his eyes flash in anger, but there it was again, that ability to bank it down.  “No, Katniss, I _do_ care.  Probably a little too much.  More than I should. You mean more to me than you understand.”

They were the right words to say, as the fire suddenly sparked back in her eyes. “After 4 days, Mellark?” she scoffed.  “Oh no, that’s right.  I _captivated_ you from the start. Before we even met.”

“Don’t mock me,” he snapped.  He slid closer to her, reaching out and gripping her chin in his hand.  “I meant _every_ word I said yesterday.” By saying them he’d gone against every level of protocol with this assignment, broken every rule he’d agreed to uphold.

“But you don’t understand,” she replied, and she winced at the crack in her voice. “Nothing ….nothing is ever going to be the same for me.  You say you want to know what I’ve been through? That you want to be there for me? You say you’re sympathetic, that you don’t agree with all the things the Capitol does? Then why don’t you do something?” The desperation in her voice was palpable.  “Why don’t you do something?” she echoed, as the tears began to spill again.

“I….Katniss, if I could….I would…but….” He trailed off, and she glowered through the sheen covering her eyes, yanking her face away from his touch.

“Then fuck you, Peeta Mellark.  Get out of my room, get out of my life.  I already told you once, i don’t want to have to tell you a third time.  You have to take my photos for the rest of the trip, fine, take it from afar, but don’t even-”

He cut her off, his arms gripping her shoulders and pulling her to him, his lips colliding with hers much as they had the day before.  There was more desperation here, she could feel it.  It was a mirror emotion of hers.

Their tongues tangled in a dance that they were both still new to, but felt like they’d been doing together forever. His fingers kneaded at the flesh of her arms, as hers reached for his shirt, gripping the cotton in her fists, tugging while she still sought reason.

And then she was in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, her face pressed to his skin. “Damn you, Peeta Mellark,” she hissed.  “I hate you.  I wish I’d never met you.  I wish you’d go away.  I wish you’d stay with me.”

She heard his throat catch, and a deep breath expelled; and she was afraid to look at him, prepared for him to break her all over again. She held her own breath as he cradled her head, as he rested his mouth against her ear.

“Katniss?” he said softly.  She could hear the hesitance, the tremble in his voice.

“Yes?” She could barely get the word out.

“I’m part of a rebellion.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, oops. This just happened. I know it was only meant to be a one-shot, but the story kept talking to me. I hope you enjoy!

The brakes squealed like nails on a chalkboard, loud and grating, and in stark contrast to the smooth, repetitive sounds Katniss was used to hearing on the train.

She supposed the emergency brake didn't get yanked very often in the middle of nowhere.

She pressed a small button concealed in the silver panelling of the wall, her shaking hand causing her to miss half a dozen times before she connected and the exterior door slid open with a soft hiss. She stumbled out, her feet barely touching the steps, and landed on her knees in the grass.

 _A rebellion_.

What did that even mean? What was he trying to say? Was Peeta on his own? Or was it all bullshit, and he had really been sent by President Snow to spy on her? She wouldn't put it past the evil bastard, still, months later, looking for a way to get even with her. He probably would never stop.

She felt the bile rise in her throat and gagged, but she held it back, swallowed despite its bitterness and the burning of the back of her throat. Being just outside the door, she was certain they would still be watching her, listening to her.

"Miss Everdeen, are you alright?" The prim, tight-lipped tones of one of the few non-Avox staff on the train came from behind her. She nodded her head, wiping her hand against her mouth and glancing over her shoulder at the man standing on the top step. His eyes were a golden yellow, his pin straight hair a vibrant shade of emerald green.

"I must have eaten too much at dinner and now I feel sick.  I just needed the fresh air. Can I have a few moments?"

The man eyed her reproachfully before nodding once, and returning back inside. She breathed a sigh of relief, and crawled to her feet, stumbling towards the end of the train. She didn't even notice the change in season, how different this landscape was to 12. They hadn't even been travelling for a full day, but already the snow and sleet of 12 was a distant memory.

The late night air was still cool and crisp against her skin, but it was a relief from the way her blood felt like it was on fire, the way her brain refused to stop running at a million miles an hour. One minute his arms had been banded about her waist and her breath was hitching in her chest, the next she was yanking free, pulling on the emergency brake just outside her door and running down the corridor.

In the stillness of night, she could hear his footsteps across leaves and soft grass.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. It probably wasn't the best way to tell you." His voice was quiet, repentant, but still broke through her thoughts.  She didn't look at him, she still wasn't sure how she felt, still wasn't entirely sure of what she believed. She waited for him to speak; after all, he was the one who had some explaining to do. She heard him clear his throat. "I've wanted to tell you from practically the minute I saw you. But I couldn't. It would have risked everything. I had to make sure first...."

Katniss sighed, dropping to her knees, fingers grasping at clumps of grass. "Make sure of what?"

"That you could do it." His voice was a whisper.

"Do what?" The silence that followed her question was heavy, pregnant with unspoken words and questions.

"Now isn't the time," Peeta finally replied. "Wait until we're there and I'll explain everything."

"In the middle of the Capitol?" Katniss snapped, finally turning and looking up at him. That damned camera case was still slung over his shoulder, the camera clasped firmly in his hand, and she watched as his eyes followed her gaze.

"I have to have it with me, Katniss," he said by way of explanation. "Impressions are everything. They'll be watching us, you know they will. And yes, I will tell you in the Capitol. There are ways of being discreet there."

She couldn't help the snort that escaped, and she rose to her feet again, not bothering to sweep the grass from her bare knees. "There's no such thing as discreet in the Capitol, Peeta.  You should know that by now - you grew up there." She sighed, glanced over his shoulder to where the train attendant was eyeing them suspiciously. "No. I'm not waiting through this whole tour for you to tell me. In 11. I want to know in 11."

Peeta's jaw tensed, and she could see him running over the possibilities in his mind. "Fine," he finally said.  "In 11. I'll find somewhere. But don't force me, Katniss. You have no idea what I'm risking by being honest with you."

"Risk?" Katniss could barely hold back her choked sob. "Everything I do is a risk, Peeta. You should know that by now." She spied the attendant begin to move down the stairs and she shook her head. "We should go inside. They're looking out for me. But before we do, I need you to answer me just one question."

"Anything."

"Did....did those kisses even mean anything to you?" She tried to keep the nerves from her voice, tried to keep it as steady and as unaffected as she could.

"Everything," he replied softly, and turned on his heel, heading back towards the open train door.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

********

Peeta wanted to go back to her, wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything, whisper in her ear that it was all going to be ok. He'd barely held himself back while they'd been outside, her sleep-loosened hair tumbling over her shoulders, the thin light blue camisole bright in the dark of the night, her eyes full of more emotions than he could count on one hand.  But he had, because he knew, right now, she didn't completely trust him. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her, but he needed to gain back the trust that had stumbled the moment he'd revealed himself. He didn't blame her, couldn't blame her.

But it didn't mean that while he tossed and turned in his own bed, he wasn't thinking of her in hers, hoping that whatever nightmares had been plaguing her earlier hadn't returned.

********

Katniss allowed Effie to smooth a non-existent crease in her dress, watched Haymitch as he mumbled to himself, glancing every so often out of one of the windows to the crowd outside. She heard the click of the camera, and glanced over her shoulder to see Peeta looking at her.  She still wasn't sure if she trusted him.  

Still couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said to her before he'd left her outside last night.

"You ready?" Haymitch cleared his throat, tugged awkwardly on the hem of his vest.

"The sooner we start, the sooner it's over, right?" she replied, though she knew the words were as false as they sounded.   _This would never be over._

"Sure," he agreed.  "After today, only ten more and the Capitol to go."

The thought made her sick, but she plastered on a smile and stepped from the train onto the dusty platform of District 11.

********

The shot echoed in her ears, even as the door closed, and Haymitch’s hand gripped her upper arm like a vice.  Feet thundered against concrete, shouts were quickly silenced.

“Wha-what was that?” Katniss stammered, eyes wide as she looked up into Haymitch’s grim face.  His lips firmed, and he glanced around them warily.  

“Not here, sweetheart, not here,” he muttered.

“But that man got _shot_ ,” she hissed, her heart hammering in her chest.  “I saw it.  You can’t tell me you didn’t see that.”

“I saw it as damn well you did,” he retorted, his fingers tightening.  “But we don’t want everyone in this room to know we did.  Shut the hell up.” He turned to see a Peacekeeper striding forcefully in their direction, through the hustle and bustle of the interior of the justice building, and on a whim yanked on Katniss’ arm, dragging her towards a corridor.  She didn’t argue, just followed, the pain welling in her chest as reality seeped in.

 _Another person dead because of her_.

The twisting corridors of District 11's Justice Building proved to be in their favor, the Peacekeeper quickly losing them in the confusion that still reigned. She trailed Haymitch blindly up a set of stairs, higher and higher until he led her up a rickety ladder and pushed through a wooden door trimmed in cobwebs, slamming it down behind them.

She looked around her, taking in the sparsely furnished room in the dome of the building, items that had been long forgotten strewn about the room, the floorboards bare and scraped.  It looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in years.  And judging by Haymitch’s direct route for it, she assumed it was one that he knew of, and that the Capitol had no need to monitor. Did he remember this room from his own games?

“Haymitch, what’s going on?  Why did they have to shoot that man? What have I done?”

He shook his head, standing beside the small, half boarded up window, and glancing around the edge, down to the square below.  “It all started the minute you rode in a chariot on fire, when you stubbornly refused to play their games.  When you placed a wreath of flowers around that girl,” he sighed.  “You paid tribute to….a tribute.  The Capitol doesn’t care for that, sweetheart.  District 11 just paid tribute to you.  And the Capitol doesn’t care for dissidence either.  We’re in trouble, sweetheart.  We’ve got to tread carefully.”

“But….how is that even wrong?  She was my _friend_ , Haymitch.  One of the few I’ve ever had.  She didn’t deserve to die that way.”  Her voice dropped to a whisper as a sob caught in her throat, as her hands began to shake.

“And you’re not the only one who thinks that; that’s why the Capitol’s scared. Panem is showing they think it’s wrong, in the only way they know how - in public, with their actions.  No matter the cost again.”

The sound of running feet caused them both to start, and Katniss shrank back against the wall.   _Would they get in trouble for being up here?  Would they know what they were talking about? Would they_ -

The door pushed up and open, and it was Peeta, his face red, his breath panting, a rivulet of sweat beading on his temple and slipping down his cheek.  He closed the door behind him, taking one last look down the ladder before he did so.

“You guys are quick,” he blurted, pulling the camera strap from around his neck and placing the camera on a dust-covered side table.  He ran a hand through his hair, the mussed waves almost standing on end.  “It is insane down there.  I could barely get away.”

“Shit, kid, what are you doing here?” Haymitch snarled.  “What if someone had seen you?”

“You think I’m that bad at doing what I do, that people would see me?  I know what I’m doing,” Peeta snapped back.  Katniss looked between the two, confusion set in her brow, in her eyes.

“I don’t care that you know what you’re doing,” Haymitch retorted. “You’re about as light footed as a bloody drunk in a bar.”

“And you’d know-”

“STOP!” Katniss demanded, louder than she intended.  They both turned to her, one glowering, one surprised.  “A man just _died_ outside, and you’re arguing like kids! What is going on?”

Haymitch opened his mouth to yell back, then noticed the shaking of her hands, the way her throat bobbed, the way her skin seemed ten shades lighter than its usual warm olive tone.  He took a deep breath.  “Nothing is going on.”

“Nothing?” She hated the fact her eyes wanted to fill with tears.  “I’ve caused another person to die.  You two are fighting, and I don’t understand anything you’re saying and people are yelling downstairs, you’re telling me that the people of Panem are angry and upset and paying tribute and....” her eyes widened as the realisation fell upon her, at the familiarity between the two men’s interaction, and she turned her gaze fully on Haymitch, pointing at Peeta.  “You know about him, don’t you?  You know he’s not what he says he is.”

The shock on Haymitch’s face was evident, and Katniss was surprised.  Haymitch was never shocked, never a step behind.  But at this, he was. She watched as he whirled on Peeta angrily.

“You had one job, kid.  And one of the elements of that was for her not to know yet.  Way to screw things up.”

“I had to,” Peeta croaked, his face pale at the fury in Haymitch’s voice.  “It doesn’t matter when Katniss found out.  She should know.”  He looked over at her, his eyes full of apology.  She didn’t want to, wanted to look anywhere but him, but she couldn’t help staring back.  She was so confused, about everything.  Except for how his gaze felt upon her, how she knew her stomach clenched every time he looked at her.

“Oh christ, this is all we need.” Haymitch’s jaw dropped, glancing from one to the other. “When the _hell_ did this happen?”

“What?” Katniss mumbled.  He responded by flipping his arm in front of him, from her to Peeta.

“ _This_.  This…..whatever it is between you.  I thought it was just _him_ , but you too?”

Katniss felt the flame creep across her face - _she_ didn’t know what the hell was going on, so she had no idea why Haymitch thought he did - while Peeta’s eyebrows rose quickly.

“I thought Katniss had told you what happened between us," Peeta asked.  “You treated me like shit on the train from 12.”

“I treat everyone like shit,” Haymitch snapped.  “This is the last thing we need, you two looking at each other with puppy dog eyes, or this...ah, shit, I can’t even say it.” He threw his hands up in disgust and stormed back to the window.  “This was the last thing we needed.”

“What I feel for Katniss and what she - ”

“Oh, _spare_ me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Peeta continued, as if Haymitch hadn’t butted in sarcastically.  “What’s important is Katniss knows.  And after that, what just happened out there in that square, it’s more important than ever that she does know.”

“Hold it,” Katniss muttered, closing her eyes and holding her hand up in a halt gesture.  “Haymitch, what have you been keeping from me?  What haven’t you been telling me?”  Her eyes opened, the grey bottomless pools of hurt.

“What did the boy tell you?” came the reply.

She bit her lip until she could taste blood.  “That there’s a rebellion,” she whispered.

His response was a short, sharp nod.

********

**_4 years earlier_ **

_He knew it was risky, knew if he got caught he'd face severe punishment. Or worse, he'd disappear. He'd heard the stories of men never seen again; leave for their Capitol job one morning, never to return. Sure, it hadn't happened in years, but it had happened. Just like all those accidents out in the districts. Mine explosions, factory fires, the capsizing of a boat...._

_But it was worth it, he knew. Would be worth it if he could play even the smallest part in a rebellion._

_Peeta had heard rumours of clandestine meetings at a small café in the next quarter over, in hidden rooms that didn't see the light of day. He'd kept his ears open for years for something like this, from the moment he'd watched a 14 year old boy become a man in front of the nation. Finnick Odair hadn't been that much older than him, the first time he could remember someone that young winning the Hunger Games. And then he'd thought of himself, of how it would have felt if it had been him.  Nothing about those games were right.  Everything about it screamed at him that they were wrong._

_He'd brought up his breakfast in terror that day, and knew that, one day, he would do what he could to stop the Hunger Games, and everything associated with it._

_He hoped today was the first step towards that, and opened the door to the cafe._

********

_"A baker is no use to us," Cressida said flatly, and Peeta felt his heart fall. It had taken plenty of convincing and a thorough body scan before he'd been allowed entry into the low lit room hidden behind a wall in the cafe kitchen. A dozen curious eyes had studied him with varying degrees of interest as he'd shakily taken a seat. He'd been here for over 2 hours already, pouring his heart out to the small, mixed group of people, about why he wanted to join the rebellion. He wondered now if it had all been nothing but a waste of time._

_"Now, now, Cressida. He said that's what his family does. Not him. What interests you, son?  What can you bring to us to help the cause?" The portly, dark haired man beside the bald woman who had led him inside smiled genially at him, sitting back in his seat._

_"I...." Peeta felt the words he was so normally good at slip away from him, but then caught the eye of a man with warm brown eyes rimmed in gold. He nodded encouragingly at Peeta. "I'm an artist. I paint, I do some photography, I-"_

_"That's it," the brown eyed man said smoothly, interrupting Peeta. "Get him on a reaping production team out to one of the regions we have contacts in. Four. Send him out to Finnick and Mags. It's always so hard to get information out there." He turned to Peeta. "I'm Cinna, by the way. Making my way up the stylist ladder. With any luck in about 3 years I should be a tribute stylist and we'll have another 'in' there."  Peeta smiled, thankful to this stranger who seemed intent on helping him._

_“Are you any good?” The older man - Plutarch, Peeta reminded himself - asked, as his eyes began to gleam._

_“I’m not too-” Peeta cut himself off as he saw Cinna shake his head infinitesimally, and straightened his shoulders.  “Yes.  I’m good.  Very good.  And if you want me on a team that goes to District 4 each year, then that’s what I’ll do.  I’ll do whatever training you need, whatever it is I’ll need to know and learn to be an operative for the rebellion.”  Nerves were twisting his stomach into knots at what they were proposing - District 4, Finnick Odair, a damned spot in helping with the rebellion - and held his breath.  If they said no, he was done.  There would be no-one else to go to.  He would have to turn around and go back to the way he’d lived his life for the last 3 years, a mask hiding his true feelings, nothing but pretending._

_“Do you understand the risks you’d be taking?  If caught, it could mean your life,” Cinna said quietly._

_“If I don’t get caught, it could mean I help bring about change in Panem,” Peeta said firmly._

_“You could never tell your family,” Cressida warned him._

_“I know.  They won’t be a problem.”  He clenched his hands in his lap, and waited._

_And waited and waited._

_“Alright then,” Plutarch finally smiled, breaking the tense silence.  He held out a hand, and Peeta took it, shaking it firmly.  “Welcome to the rebellion, Peeta Mellark.  I hope you’re prepared.”_

********

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Peeta hadn’t been able to tell her in 11.  After the events in the square, and their ensuing conversation in the Justice Building, they’d had to return downstairs before their absence was noted.  Peacekeepers stuck by Katniss’ side constantly, barely giving her a moment to herself, let alone with Peeta, and he'd steadfastly refused to discuss it on the train.  It had taken two more days for them to steal away long enough for him to explain - under the guise of photographing Katniss in the plains of District 9 - to give her a basic outline of what he’d done, where he’d gone, how he'd become involved in the first place.

"And Haymitch? When did he become involved?" Her voice wavered - this was what was going to hurt the most. If he'd been a part of the rebellion all this time and not told her.... "Was it before my games?"

"I...I think that's a question you need to ask him," Peeta replied, lifting the camera and randomly snapping, for the benefit of any onlookers.

"So you're saying yes," she replied flatly.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Then why me? Why now? What makes me so special?" She stuck her hands in her pockets, wishing he would drop the camera and just talk. But she knew why he couldn't, knew he knew better than she did what they had to do to remain inconspicuous. If everything he'd just told her was real, he'd become a master of hiding the truth.

She wanted to hate him for it, but something in her blood thrummed every time he spoke of his work; his eyes became intense, his voice became impassioned; he practically radiated fire and desire and an almost painful need for change.

The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted him. The more she wanted him, the more she berated herself. The more she berated herself, the more she cursed him coming into her life.

Then she realised she would be oblivious, she wouldn't know a thing that was happening. And it would start all over again.

The burgeoning, constant need never wavered though.

"You didn't play their games, Katniss. And while you're not the most....charming person, you struck a chord. It started with Prim, and your relationship with Rue was your defining moment. We knew then that we finally had a catalyst. The districts hadn't shown any sense of feeling for a long time. You've fueled that." She watched as he took a few steps back, crouching in the grass and angling the camera up towards her.

"What.. what I did for Rue wasn't for show," she said quietly.

"I know," he replied. She hated that his eyes were hidden behind the camera.  "That's what makes it all the more poignant. Panem may not know what to think of you, Katniss, but they know you're different."

“Different,” Katniss repeated.  She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that; she had never wanted to stand out enough to be seen as different.  “And not charming.”  She screwed her nose up.  Who wanted to be charming anyway?

Peeta lowered the camera, and smiled at her.  “Well, I generally have a different opinion than most on that one,” he told her.

“You think I’m charming?” Katniss scoffed.

“I wouldn’t go that far….” he began, and she shot him a dirty look.  He laughed, then immediately sobered.  “You’re more than charming to me, Katniss.  I thought we’d established that.”

“I don’t know what to think after everything that’s happened.”  She wrapped her arms around her waist, surprised at the chill that danced across her skin as the sun dipped behind clouds.

“I would never lie to you about something like that, Katniss,” he told her firmly, and rose.  “Come on.  We should head back.”

She nodded, and let him lead her back towards the fields edge, where two Peacekeepers waited.  “Peeta, wait,” she called.  He turned, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“This is what you meant, back when we were outside the train.  Wanting to see if I could do it.  You want me to become part of the rebellion, don’t you?”  He studied her for a moment, before nodding.

“Yes, Katniss, we do,” he replied, and continued on his way.  She had no choice but to follow.

********

District 9 became District 8, and soon District 7 felt like a distant memory. Moments alone, even for Katniss and Haymitch - for her to find out more from him, to understand the extent of his involvement in the rebellion - were few and far between.

Katniss' nightmares increased the closer she got to the Capitol, the more she faced the families of her fellow tributes. She spent her nights fighting off sleep for as long as she could, until finally it would catch her, drawing her into its clutches and into the dark recesses of her mind that wanted to torment her.

“You look like shit, sweetheart,” Haymitch commented over dinner as they left the outskirts of District 6. She bit into a roll, and scowled at him, even as Effie reprimanded her on her table manners.

“Thanks, because you’re a shining example,” she retorted.

“No, seriously,” he replied, shovelling more food into his mouth as he looked at her closely.  “Are you even sleeping?”

She ignored him, studiously focusing on her food, and how many green beans she could spear with her fork.  She didn’t want to admit to him that sleeping was something she did because her body forced her to, not because she wanted to.

“Fine,” Haymitch sighed.  “Don’t answer me.”

She stubbornly stayed silent, refusing to catch anyones eye.  Peeta knew - he’d seen the evidence of it, caught her in the throes of a nightmare - and deep down she knew Haymitch would understand.  He’d probably experienced exactly the same thing, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to admit to.  Her nightmares were hers, and hers alone.  She didn’t need to burden anyone else with them.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, as Effie outlined their schedule in District 5 in the trains screen room, as Haymitch made lewd comments he knew would make Effie blush, as Peeta sat at a small portable monitor and studied photos he had taken in District 6 and 7.  If Katniss sat on the long sofa at a certain angle, she could see the screen, see the images he’d captured of her.  She didn’t want to be curious, but she also couldn’t help but want to see them.  What did Peeta see in them when he looked at them?  Did he see Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire?  Did he see Katniss Everdeen, a girl with a scarred heart? Or did he see something else completely, something that only he could, something she could never understand?

She had to stop thinking about it.

Midnight soon came and Haymitch and Effie retired for the night, bickering as they walked down the corridor to their rooms.  She watched them go, knowing it was inevitable that she would have to retire to her own room soon.  She glanced over at Peeta, still engrossed in his photos, then back at the wall screen, and the ridiculous Capitol programme Effie had left on after she’d finished with their schedule.  Maybe, if she just sat here, and waited until Peeta went to bed, she could put sleep off just a little bit longer….

_He smiled at her, his hand trailing down the length of her hair.  She didn’t wear it out often, it was too impractical, too...girly. But something about the way he’d looked at her when she walked out of her room with it unbound and trailing over her shoulders, had made her reconsider.  Maybe she would wear it out more often._

_She leant into him, welcomed the press of his lips against the delicate skin of her neck, revelled in the shiver it sent down her spine, into the pit of her belly.  His fingers danced across her collar bone, slid down her shoulder, down her arm before resting on her hip.  She inhaled sharply and shifted closer, so that thigh brushed against thigh and her breast pressed against his chest. She glanced up at him, and couldn’t help but think how blue his eyes were, but how much she wished she could see their real colour.  This blue was just too bright and pure to be real._

_Blue. Black. Brown. Red. The change was abrupt and startling._

_Their eyes chased her across the field, their breath heavy and deep enough that she swore sh could feel it on the back of her neck, fear overtaking her like tendrils of smoke crawling over skin._

_She could hear their whines, and their whines became growls and then became voices. She heard the dark haired one first, snarky and bitter, followed by the blonde, light and airy and full of giggles. She didn't know what was more disconcerting; their eyes or the human voices that had begun to emanate from them._

_She ran and ran and ran, but this time she wasn't fast enough. They leapt on her, teeth nipping at skin, claws tearing at her clothes, weight from their paws bearing down on her. She didn't care. She was happy to let them - she was done, finished. A few minutes of pain would become welcome relief from this life - after all, how would she ever live with these scars? She whispered a goodbye and a sorry to Prim - then looked up in horror at the warm brown eyes that hovered over her, jaw gaping open, sharp teeth bared, blood and saliva glistening. It couldn't be Rue, couldn't be Rue, couldn't be-_

"Katniss." The voice was soft, steady and silky against her ear, and she startled awake, her hand rushing to her face. It was soaked in sweat and tears, but it was still there, still intact. She looked up into Peeta's terrified eyes, and averted her gaze.

"I fell asleep," she whispered.  "I tried so hard not to." She glanced back up at him, her brain slowly registering the fact that Peeta was beside her on the couch, his arms around her and her hands gripping the front of his shirt. She released her hands, finger by finger as cramp set in. "How long was I out for?"

"Half an hour," he croaked, slowly easing back. "You were fine, even had a smile on your face, and then you started thrashing and shaking and I started to come over, but you stopped. You went completely still, and your whole body relaxed." He stopped, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. "And then....and then you started screaming and babbling and I couldn't wake you up, and..."

"And?"

"And then I just whispered in your ear, and you came out of it," Peeta said quietly. She bit her lip, and looked away.  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No.” Her reply was blunt.

“But-”

“No,” Katniss repeated.  The end of her dream was bad enough, but the faint memory of how it started terrified her just as much.  She glanced at the luminescent clock that glowed on the wall.  "I should go to my room." She began to move off the couch, lowering her bare feet to the floor; Peeta shifted, then practically leapt from the sofa to catch her as her knees gave way. He shook his head, tucking one arm under her knees and the other around her back, effortlessly lifting her into his arms.

"You're not walking anywhere," he told her firmly, and ignored her initial protestations. But as he walked her down the corridor, his chest firmly pressed against the side of her head, the slow in and out of his breath steadying her own, her arguments died on her lips. He was warm, so warm, and everything inside her settled, calmed. He smelt like cinnamon and something else she couldn't place, but whatever it was, it comforted her, made her feel safe. She didn't even realise that she fitted herself to him more securely as they went along, that she settled her cheek against the curve of his neck and breathed him in, lulled by his closeness.

Katniss vaguely noted, in a state somewhere between sleep and wake, that he pressed the button to open her door, that he gently laid her down on the bed, and the door swooshed closed behind them. What she noted with perfect clarity was the loss of his warmth as he stepped away, as he left her alone.

"No!" She said abruptly, and quickly turned to face him, her arm flinging out and gripping onto his wrist.

"Yeah?" Peeta said gently.

"Will you....will you stay with me?" She whispered. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”  She watched as his eyes softened, as he expelled a deep breath. He nodded, and slid in beside her, on his back, but careful not to touch her. He drew the soft quilt over them, though she barely paid any attention. She reached a hand out, touching her fingers to the back of his wrist, feeling his pulse beat under the pale skin. Katniss was asleep before she heard his spoken reply.

********

He waited until her breathing had evened out, once she'd slept, undisturbed, for at least an hour. He'd watched her, watched the way her eyelids fluttered, the way her fingers clenched and flexed, the way she clutched at the pillow, hugging it close to her.

Peeta gently pulled his arm from underneath her hand, and waited to make sure she didn't wake before stealing from the room. He moved down the corridor quickly, opening the door to his room and going immediately into his bathroom. He knew they weren't monitored - it was the one room they could ever be guaranteed privacy in - and had been careful to only receive notifications in there. He pushed the button on the shower, water streaming from the spout, pounding against the tiles.

He sat on the floor with his back to the wall, and pulled a small, portable comm from his pocket, noted the video message he'd known had come through half an hour earlier. He pressed play, watched as the screen flickered and static crossed the screen before an image filled it. His heart dropped as he realised it was himself and Katniss, that first night on the train. _Shit.  He hadn’t even thought of the cameras, hadn’t even been thinking about this happening.  All he’d been thinking about was making sure Katniss was ok._

It played through, one minute of edited footage from that night. He watched as he woke her, as she told him to leave, and she crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around him. He breathed a sigh of relief that his whispered words to her were not picked up by the listening devices, and watched as she stared at him after he told her, as she lifted a hand to her mouth, then as she bolted from the room.

The video faded, before an image of Plutarch appeared. His mouth was grim, but his eyes danced with - amusement? He wasn't sure.

"Peeta, you need to be aware this footage was almost seen by President Snow. We are lucky enough to have a man on the inside on the night shift at the feed centre who caught this before anyone else.  You need to be careful, Peeta, as we can’t always guarantee he will be on shift.” He paused, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "I cannot stress the importance of this mission. While this may add an _interesting_ element, shall we say, to our plans, you need to tread carefully, Peeta. One mistake, and everything can tumble. Be careful,” he warned again, before looking off to the side, as if someone had entered the room he was in.  He nodded at the person before looking straight down the barrel of the camera again. "I'll be in contact when I can. In the meantime...enjoy being in the first throes of love, son. Just don't let it cloud your judgement." With a firm nod, Plutarch pressed a button on his desk and the screen went blank.

Peeta didn't even notice.  

He was too busy wondering when and how a simple captivation had turned into love.  And how Plutarch Heavensbee had realised it before he had.


	3. Chapter 3

**_1 year earlier_ **

_The beeps were low but steady, in time with the beating of his heart. Even from this side of the room, he could hear them as if the machine was right beside him, as if he was the one hooked up to it. But he wasn't._

_Mags was._

_He didn't know her full name. No-one did. She'd just been Mags for as long as anyone had known her. And as she was Panem's oldest living Victor, no one questioned it, or her. The districts revered her; the Capitol ignored her, and the way she'd let age creep in with no regard. She didn't care about the lines, the wrinkled skin, the grey hair that frizzed over her shoulders. Peeta had heard her say more than once she revelled in it - the obvious signs that she'd aged, beaten the odds, survived when so many others hadn't._   _Now, hooked up to a machine in the sterile white room, he worried if this was the end for her._

_He shouldn't have even been there._

_It was the day before the Reaping, and he'd arrived to begin setting up for the broadcast. While he was primarily the photographer for the day, he'd immersed himself into the production over the years, getting involved and learning everything he could. It also helped him access areas he normally wouldn't be able to._   _And connect with Finnick Odair._

_They'd met at Peeta's first Reaping in 4. The man had smiled at him at their introduction at the Mayor's house, shook his hand firmly, and thanked him for becoming involved. To the casual observer, it wouldn't be out of place - Finnick Odair, being polite to a Capitol citizen. But Peeta knew it was more than that; he was talking of rebellion._

_He had requested time to take some portraits of the Victor, and as Panem loved the raucous, golden man, Peeta had quickly been given permission by Snow's advisors. Two hours, and a photo session on a small dock later, Peeta knew everything he needed to know about Finnick and Mags' part in the rebellion._

_He'd gotten to know the two victors well in his short times in 4, and on the odd occasion they travelled to the Capitol. He could count Finnick as a true friend, and Mags had become like a beloved aunt._   _He supposed that's why he was so distraught at seeing her here, lifeless and silent._

_The stroke had been sudden, unexpected. It happened two days prior, but news of it had been quickly silenced by the Capitol. Nothing should overshadow a Reaping. But it had spread like wildfire through those a part of the rebellion, worrying for the health of one of their staunchest allies._

_"I didn't expect to see you here." Finnick had stepped up beside him quietly, and Peeta cursed himself. He was supposed to be on alert at all times; he hadn't even heard the door to the room open. "It's dangerous for you to be here without purpose. Someone could see you."_

_"I had to come," Peeta said simply. "Has there been any change?" Finnick shook his head, and Peeta could see the strain clearly on his face. "How is Annie dealing with it?"_

_"Like she does everything," Finnick replied humourlessly. "She's hurting. Mags has been there for her - more than I can ever be. She's…broken."_

_Peeta reached out an arm, resting it on Finnick's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Right now he knew words wouldn't suffice._

_"I hate that no one is allowed to know," Finnick suddenly muttered fiercely. "Her family don't even know. They’ve been told she's travelled to the Capitol for a group of Reaping functions."_

_Peeta's mouth dropped open, horrified. Her family didn’t even know she was ill, and all because the Capitol didn't want their precious showpiece overshadowed._

_"They don't know?"_

_Finnick shook his head, dropping his voice, though both knew they didn't need to. This wing of the hospital was for Capitol visitors and the elite. And in their pride, it wasn't monitored - they would never expect traitorous words be spoken by their own. "It happened while we were meeting with the new escort we have, in the Justice Building. They whisked her off here," he gestured around the small, private wing of 4's top of the line hospital, "And told her family she'd been called away immediately to the Capitol. They know something's wrong. I just... I can't risk telling them. Who knows what they would say?"_

_"And we're not ready for that yet."_

_"No. We still don't have our catalyst, Peeta. And as much as it pains me to say it, Mags and her family aren't it."_

_Peeta nodded in agreement. Though he wondered just how long they would have to continue to wait for something - or someone - to inspire Panem to rebel._

_The beeps echoed as he walked from the room._

********

"And _that_ , Katniss, is Finnick Odair."

Katniss screwed her nose up at the bronze haired man who held court with a group of ladies in the middle of the Great Hall of the Justice Building in 4. He smiled, and laughed, gently caressed the cheek of one woman, then whispered in the ear of another.

"He is delectably charming, but very much a ladies man." Effie was still blathering away, though it was more of an insistent buzz in Katniss' ear. She didn't care about the man - she'd seen him on Capitol broadcasts over the years, and had heard more than enough of his womanising ways - nor did she care about anything to do with this party. The celebration in 4 was just another in a long line of Victory Tour celebrations, and she was tired and emotionally drained. She wasn't sleeping, and facing family after family of her fallen co-tributes haunted her every minute of the day.

Peeta's presence wasn't even a comfort; she'd barely seen him since she'd fallen asleep beside him as they left district 6.  Not even the thought of his chest under her ear as he carried her to bed or the fast-fading memory of his lips on hers could distract her.

No, at the moment, all he was, was a reminder of his purpose.

_We want you to join the rebellion._

"But in all honesty, I've heard he's simply marvellous in b-"

"Dammit, Effie, knock it off, would you?" Haymitch sighed, approaching them with a flute of bubbling purple liquid in each hand. He didn't offer either of them to anyone. "Katniss doesn't need to hear that."

"I know she doesn't _need_ to, Haymitch," Effie huffed, then abruptly shifted her head, raising her hand in a wave as her eyes landed on a man in a lime green suit. "Excuse me, I must go and speak with Julius. I haven't seen him since the Games!" With a bright smile Effie sashayed away, her lemon yellow swathed hips swaying with each step she took.

"You wouldn't think she's part of this, would you?" Haymitch muttered around the rim of the glass as he held it to his lips. Katniss turned to him, eyebrows raised incredulously.

"Effie too?" She hissed, and he had at least the decency to flush.

"Er, yeah, sweetheart. Well….to a limited extent, anyway.  Did I not mention that either?"

"Seems a lot of things you never mentioned," she retorted, snatching the second glass from his hand and swallowing it in one go. "If Peeta hadn't told me would I have ever found out?"

"I was waiting for the right time," he snapped.

"When? Right between next week and never?" She shook her head, shoving the now empty glass back in his hand. "I want to go. How much longer do I have to stick around?"

"Hours. The Mayor hasn't even done his speech yet. And you know they expect dancing."

Katniss winced. She hated dancing, hated it with every fibre of her being. And on this tour, it just made her feel as if she was dancing on other peoples graves. _Look at the fun I'm having. Look at how I'm still alive. Look at how you're not._

She felt sick.

"I....I have to go to the bathroom," she muttered, the bubbles from the drink gurgling in her belly, mixing with her guilt, twisting her insides into knots.

"You're not gonna vomit are you?" Haymitch grimaced.

"Like you've never face planted in your own bile, Haymitch," she mumbled, holding a hand to her mouth. "Just....where are they?" He grabbed a hold of her elbow and led her through the room, pushing her through a teal blue door decorated with - absurdly - topless women with fishtails for legs. She stumbled over the smooth pearl coloured tiles, and practically fell into a thin stall at the end of the row, the door slamming behind her. The liquid she'd barely finished swallowing came up, scorching her throat, searing her stomach. She retched until her belly was empty, until her pulse had steadied and her head felt light.

_4 more stops, Katniss. 4 more stops and you can go home._

She pulled herself up off the ground, using the door handle to steady herself.  She opened the door, taking a quick glance around the bathroom lobby to ensure she was still alone, and crossed to the sinks, a row of gleaming porcelain dishes topped with gold-edged mirrors. Fish and tridents and curlicues that resembled breaking waves were carved into the frames.  She focused on her face, the way the colour had been lynched from her cheeks, the way flyaway tendrils of hair had come loose of the complicated updo it had been twisted into, and were stuck to her forehead and neck.

With a sigh, she splashed water on her face, cupping her hand under the faucet to gulp down some of the cool liquid to remove the taste from her mouth.  The sooner she got out there, she figured, the sooner she could dance, the sooner she could go back to the train, and they could be on their way to Three.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen some of the tension that seemed to rest itself on them permanently, and moved toward the door, yanking it open.  Only to find Finnick Odair leaning lazily against the wall on the opposite side of the corridor, a faint smirk on his face.  If she thought the outfits she had to wear were ostentatious, Finnick’s midnight blue silk shirt, tucked into slim pants the colour of fog were the complete opposite. Until you took into consideration the shirt draped open to his waist and the belt that looked like pure gold circling the waist of his pants.

“There she is,” he drawled.  “Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire!”

"Here I am," she sighed, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. "And you're Finnick Odair."

"Ah, my reputation precedes me," Finnick grinned. "Nice to meet you, Miss Everdeen. It's certainly....a pleasure."  His tongue rolled around the end of the word, drawing it out.

This time, the eye roll happened before she even realised it.

He pushed away from the wall and stepped towards her, digging his hand into his pocket before removing it again triumphantly and holding it right in front of her face.  She blinked rapidly, trying to determine what it was.  “Want a sugar cube?” She raised an eyebrow in surprise.

_Had he really just asked her if she wanted a sugar cube?_

“I think I’ll be fine,” she replied with an edge of sarcasm.

“I’m sure you will,” he grinned, and popped the shimmering white block in his mouth, sucking on it until his cheeks were hollow and his lips popped. “So, our already sweet enough victor.  I think it’s only fair we take a turn around the dance floor, don’t you?”

She scoffed, and moved past him, back down the hall towards safety, where the other guests were still mingling.   _Where the hell was Haymitch?_ But Finnick moved with her, easily keeping up with her hurried stride.  “I don’t dance,” she snapped.

“Now, now, that’s a bold faced lie,” he laughed, a soft, strangely arousing sound that felt like it danced along her skin.  “I’ve seen you at all the other parties on the Victory Tour, Katniss Everdeen.  And I refuse to miss out on dancing with the loveliest woman here.”

“I’m fairly certain you already have enough women to choose from,” Katniss retorted as they stepped into the open room.  His fingers encircled her wrist gently, causing her to look up at him in annoyance.  She opened her mouth to snap at him, but at the look in his green, blue - _whatever they were_ \- eyes, she stopped.  “Fine,” she sighed.  “Once, for the cameras.”

“That’s what they all say, and then they change their mind,” Finnick said slyly, before tugging on her hand and drawing her into the centre of the dance floor.  His arm encircled her waist easily, the other hand twining itself with hers and holding them just above his heart.

“Ugh.”  She rolled her eyes, but obligingly rocked her feet from side to side.  At least he was leading, and she didn’t have to put much thought into it.

“You’ve taken Panem quite by storm,” Finnick said lightly, his hand tightening around her hip as they stepped around a couple drunk to distraction.  “I must say, I was more than excited about the possibility of us...connecting while you were in 4.”

“Not interested, Odair,” she said bluntly, and couldn't help but think of the quiet steadiness of Peeta, and how she preferred it to the blatant sexuality of Finnick. “I’ve seen how you work, I’ve heard the rumours.”

“Oh really?” Finnick asked lazily.

“One pretty woman after the next?  A wake of sighing hearts behind you?  No thank you.”

“Well then,” he said smoothly.  “What about secrets then?  I love hearing peoples secrets.  They certainly keep me occupied.  Want to share a secret with me, Katniss?”

 _That was it_. Yanking herself from his arms, she stepped back, folding her arms across her chest. “I have no secrets.  I’m an open book.”

He smiled, stepping close to her, dropping his head until his mouth was close to her ear.  If anyone looking on took a second glance, all they would see was two Victors in an intriguing embrace. “On the contrary, you have plenty of secrets, Katniss, and I plan to learn quite a few of them.” He moved back, letting his hand linger on her arm for a moment longer before it dropped to his side.  “Thank you for the dance, Miss Everdeen.  I’ll see you around.”  With a final grin shot over his shoulder, he walked away, already surrounded by a gaggle of women.  Katniss stood, almost in a sense of shock.

In the corner of the room, she caught a glimpse of Haymitch, and stormed over to him before she could second guess herself. “I’m going for a walk.  I can’t be in here anymore,” she mumbled. He looked at her carefully before nodding.

“Don’t go too far, sweetheart.  You know they’ll look for you if you do.”  She nodded half-heartedly – she’d be on her way back to 12 in an instant if she could – and headed for the glass doors that lined one wall, slipping through them quickly onto the terrace, and down the stone steps that led from the building.  If there was one thing she appreciated about 4, it was the Justice Buildings’ close proximity to the beach, to the ocean.  For someone who had never been exposed to either, the sight had bewildered her as she’d see it for the first time earlier that afternoon.  She’d barely been able to concentrate on the palm cards that held her Capitol-approved speech, distracted by the clear blue colour of the water, the foam that edged the waves, the golden biscuit shade of the sand.

It was that direction she headed, kicking off the flats Cinna had her wear, and dangling them from her fingertips as she stepped onto the beach for the first time.  It was rough and smooth all at once, and she swore she could feel every individual grain against her skin.  Thankful that the dress she wore only hit her knees, she made her way across the sand towards the waters edge.  The lights from the Justice Building – and town – grew dimmer the closer she got, and the reflection of the moon deepened across ripples as she reached where water lapped at the sand.

She stepped forward, her toes sliding into the cool water. It was like the lake, but it wasn't. It was a little rougher, not as calm, and the smell of salt filled the air. There was nothing for miles in front of her, just an endless black abyss. Being here made her think of the first time she'd seen Peeta back in 12, how he'd stood out in sharp relief to the blanket of white snow and she'd likened him to a beacon in a darkened sea.

He was so much more than that.

Fighting the urge to sit on the waters edge - Effie and Cinna would kill her if she got her dress wet - she instead walked up the beach just a little further to an old wooden jetty, lowering herself to the soft dry sand. Her back rested against the rough splinters, but they didn't bother her. It felt real, and if she closed her eyes and pretended the sound of the water was wind rustling through leaves, she could almost, _almost_ imagine she was in the woods back home.

She heard the breathing before anything else, and froze. It could be anyone, _anything_ , and even now, on a deserted beach in district 4, her first instinct was to go for her bow. Without shifting too much, she slowly opened her eyes. Two pylons away sat Peeta, his back against the wood, his knees drawn up casually in front of him. He was completely shrouded in shadow, and if it wasn't for the fact she had such keen eyesight, and her ears attuned to the slightest change in sound - _thank you, Capitol -_ she wouldn't have had a clue he was there.

"Did Haymitch send you to find me?" She asked bluntly, hesitant to look in his direction.

"No," came the startled response. He paused. "How did you know I was here?"

"I just did," she shrugged. "I’m a hunter, remember?  I'm good at...finding things when they don't necessarily want to be found."

Katniss heard him expel a deep breath. "Don't make it obvious that you're talking to someone. They'll still be watching you."

"Nothing different," she countered, but nodded slightly.  She dropped her head so she was looking at the ground, tracing patterns in the sand with her finger. "You've been avoiding me the last two days. Is it because I haven't given you an answer about the rebellion yet?"

Peeta didn't reply immediately, and she was worried she'd overstepped the mark. Just because they'd shared-

"No," he finally sighed, interrupting her inner ramblings.  "I....My assignment coordinator sent me some footage.  That’s why I followed you out here.  I needed to tell you."

"Tell me what?  What footage?"

"Of the train. Of us. On the train. That first night."

Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered that first night, of her crawling onto his lap, of resting her head against his pounding heart, of him telling her about the rebellion....

"Oh no, Peeta, do they know?" She asked fearfully. _Had she ruined all his meticulous plans by going on instinct and doing the only thing she could think of doing at the time?_

"No," he assured her. "The footage was intercepted by an insider before it could be viewed.  But…..” he trailed off, though he didn’t need to say any more.  Katniss had already connected the dots, and knew he was thinking of the night she’d asked him to stay with her.

_What if President Snow had seen that?_

“I need to keep my distance from you, Katniss,” Peeta said quietly.  “I can’t allow what happened on the train to happen again.  Ever.”

The combination of fury, anger and hurt hit her like a slap to the face.  It was almost irrational.

“Ever?  That’s a bit final, isn’t it?” _Why was she even worried about that?  Why should it even bother her? In a matter of days he’d return to the Capitol and she’d never see him again. Unless….._

“Ok,” Peeta acquiesced, “While I’m still undercover.  I can’t risk this, Katniss.  I can’t risk the rebellion this way.  Even if…”

“Even if what?” she bit out.

“Even if I want to.  It’s been killing me the last couple of nights not to be able to come to you when I heard you cry out.  But I just…..can’t.  I may have already risked things as it is, if Snow or one of his advisors has seen that other footage.”

“But….If you have a man on the inside, couldn’t he watch out at night, or change the footage or….”  She trailed off, angry at herself for feeling so needy, for the fact she was arguing with him about whether he could sleep in her bed. For the thought of him not being able to come in to her if she had nightmares feeling like a nightmare itself.  Hated that even in such a short time, she’d somehow become reliant on him.

“I can’t guarantee he’ll always be on shift. It's just too dangerous.  The rebellion has been in the works for longer than either of us know. It's...it has to be a priority."

Silence fell between them, the water hitting the beach and the wooden pylons the only sound.  She set her jaw, knowing deep down her anger was misplaced.  He was just doing his job; after all, wasn’t a new Panem more important than her?

She hated that part of her was selfishly thinking otherwise.

Finally she heard Peeta sigh, the crack of a knee as he stood.  “You should go back, Katniss.”  

She nodded curtly, rose to her feet without bothering to brush the sand off her skirts.  She didn’t glance back as she stalked back up the beach to the Justice Building.

********

Peeta watched her go, watched as she stomped barefoot across the sand, barely stopping to slip her shoes on as she reached the stairs.  He’d selfishly wanted her to turn around, so he could get one last glimpse of her, but she was stronger than that, he knew.  She didn’t need to see him.

He’d kept to the edges during the party, a long range lens doing his work for him.  She’d looked so serious - or disgusted - for most of the night, and at one stage had looked downright ill.  Haymitch had marched her quick smart to the bathrooms, thankfully, but he’d been surprised when she’d returned with Finnick in tow.

Peeta hadn’t been able to help the grin that spread across his face when he saw the way she looked at Finnick - mostly disdain, with a little bit of utter confusion.  Finnick was the best actor he’d possibly seen in his life.  He was, in short, the perfect double agent. He hoped if - _when_ , he corrected himself positively - Katniss joined the rebellion, she would be able to see the real Finnick. The one dedicated to a better Panem and a willowy brunette who had snuck up on him.

It had hurt like hell to tell Katniss that; to tell her he couldn't maintain the familiarity they'd established over the last couple of weeks. It was ridiculous, really, how much he'd allowed himself to grow attached to her.

_Fall in love with her._

But he'd known it was the right decision, and he knew that no matter how angry and upset Katniss was right now, she would come to the same realisation. He also knew, despite his protestations to Haymitch that they needed to be honest with Katniss, holding back on the communication he had received that afternoon directly from the Capitol had been the right thing to do. Giving Katniss the implication of trouble was one thing; confirming it was another. Peeta swallowed heavily as he ran over the words of the memo in his head again, as a rumble of thunder in the distance sounded forebodingly.

_Mr Mellark,_

_Congratulations on a successful assignment so far. We commend you on the images you have submitted and your ability to draw our latest victor out of her shell._

_Your attendance is required at a meeting with President Snow immediately upon your return to the Capitol. Transport will be available to you at the train station._

_With favour,_

_Augustus Faulkner_

_Secretary to President Snow_

And as he'd never had a direct communication from the president's office, it only meant one thing to him. _Danger_.

He needed to be careful.

********

**_6 months earlier_ **

_Peeta looked up at the giant screen that dominated one wall of the function room.  Katniss Everdeen looked awkward, uncomfortable, as Caesar Flickerman gently asked her questions about her time in the arena, coaxing hesitant answers from her.  She looked radiant and sweet and….young in her soft yellow gown._

_He seemed to be the only one watching._

_He’d been lucky to get admission to this, the event held especially for the Capitol’s elite and a select few previous Victors – those deemed ‘appealing’ enough – to celebrate the end of the games and watch this years’ winner discuss their journey from Tribute to Victor.  But everyone else was too focused on the buffet, and eyeing off those they hadn’t slept with yet to pay attention to the screen.  Peeta had already had to brush off the advances of a voluptuous blonde with stars tattooed across her cheek and pink streaked liberally through her hair._

_Tonight was one of his highest profile jobs so far, and he’d been thrilled when he’d been advised.  It meant his work was being recognised, he would have the chance to connect with Plutarch and Finnick without having to resort to secrecy….and he got to stare at Katniss Everdeens face without shame.  After all, wasn’t that what everyone was supposed to be here for?_

_Lifting his camera, Peeta studied the room until he had a shot he liked, changing angle, changing the aperture until it was perfect and he clicked.  He pulled the camera down, studied the image on the small screen._

_“Now that is a nice shot.” Plutarch’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and Peeta turned, smiling genially.  It was hard to not be familiar with the man – after all, this was really the first time they were supposed to have met.  Cressida was, by all accounts, his official employer._

_“Thank you, Mr Heavensbee,” Peeta replied smoothly.  He stuck out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”_

_“And you, Mr Mellark.  I’ve heard some wonderful things of your photography.  I understand it is garnering a lot of attention.”_

_“I’m humbled by it,” Peeta replied.  He glanced around him, noticed that no-one was paying them any attention.  Even the blonde had turned her charms to Gloss from District 1, her hand drifting to places on his body that really shouldn’t be drifted to in a public environment.  He couldn’t determine by the look on Gloss’ face whether he was enjoying it or not._

_“Any news?” he mumbled to the older man under his breath.  “I’ve heard murmurs, but nothing concrete.”_

_“She’s it,” Plutarch replied simply.  He took a deep swallow from the large glass he carried.  “The districts are responding to her.  Volunteering started it.”_

_“The little girls’ death fed it,” Peeta surmised, thinking sadly of the young girl from 11 whose death had hit Katniss so hard.  Plutarch nodded.  Peeta felt his heart pound excitedly; after all this time, maybe, just maybe, they had traction.  “What do we do?  What’s the next step?”_

_“We need to get someone to her, feel her out, see what she thinks of the Capitol without blatantly telling her there’s a rebellion going on,” Plutarch muttered.  He smiled widely and laughed, as if Peeta had told a great joke.  “She’s not going to trust another Victor.  I’d try to get Mags to meet with her, but she’s still recovering.”_

_“How is she?” Peeta asked.  He hadn’t been able to get a moment with Finnick so far this evening to ask, no matter how many times he’d tried.  There had always been some socialite attached to his arm._

_“Physically?  As fine as someone her age can be.  It’s her speech that’s affected.  The only person who seems to be able to communicate with her is Finnick. I know for certain if I send him with Mags to speak with Katniss, the meeting would be a dismal failure.  And her hearing it from Haymitch could be a bad move.  They’ll be watching him just as closely as they’ll be watching her.  We may have to leave speaking with her until the next time she’s in the Capitol.”_

_Peeta was silent for a few moments before it hit him, the idea almost swallowing him whole.  “Send me,” he whispered._

_“What?” Plutarch asked, confusion on his face._

_“You know they send a photographer to the Victor just prior to the Victory Tour.  Send me.  I can speak to her.”_

_Plutarch studied him, and Peeta knew he was being closely scrutinised.  Even after being involved in the rebellion for as long as he had, people still saw him as just a kid.  This was his chance to prove them otherwise.  He just had to be given the opportunity._

_“I can’t just give the assignment to you, Peeta,” Plutarch finally sighed.  “It needs to go through the proper channels, the proper course of action needs to be discussed and approved.  You need to earn it.”_

_“And I haven’t over the last few years?” he argued._

_“Not enough for some,” Plutarch said simply.  “I’m all for it.  I think it’s a sound idea.  But prove yourself.  Work hard.  Campaign with Cressida.  If you’re meant to do it, it will happen.”  He slapped a hand on Peeta’s shoulder jovially, his voice rising a few notches.  “Ah, yes, yes, our Victor is a good one this year, no doubt.  It was good speaking with you Peeta!”  He smiled, then walked away, leaving Peeta with a resolve to do whatever he could to get that assignment across the line._

********

Thunder clapped, sending a rumble through the stillness of the train. It yanked her from her nightmares, pulling her from the grip of Cato's hands to the tangle of her sheets. They were soaked with her sweat and her tears, and she pushed them away so that they landed in a heap on the floor.

Katniss stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain lash against the window, watching the flashes of lighting that snuck through the blinds play across the room as she willed her heart to slow. It hadn't taken long after their arrival back on the train for her to fall asleep, just as it hadn't taken long for the nightmares to overwhelm her. They never did.

She thought back to the night Peeta had laid beside her, the reassurance of his skin under her fingertips and the quiet sound of his breath lulling her to the best sleep she could remember having in....well, since the moment Primrose Everdeen had been called. But now even that had been taken away from her.

Pulling herself up into a sitting position, she slipped her feet into the flat slippers an Avox habitually laid out for her every night, pulling on a thin robe the colour of mint leaves. She stole from the room, only slightly hesitating outside Peeta's door when she saw the light still shining under the slim crack at the bottom of the door. She continued down the corridor, through the buffet car - already half set up and prepared for breakfast, the silverware and china just waiting for the food to be laid upon it - out to the back car of the train. She couldn't use the retractable roof, not while it was teeming down with rain, but the wall to ceiling windows suited what she needed right now.

She needed to be as close to the outdoors as possible.

Lying flat on her back on one of the plump couches, she wrapped herself in a cashmere throw and watched the rain fall towards her; the trees fly past in the darkened night. Her thoughts drifted to Peeta’s announcement, how they – whoever ‘they’ were – wanted her to become a part of their rebellion.  To do what, she still wasn’t sure.  What could a 17 year old girl from the “wrong” side of the tracks ever do to make Panem a better place?

Either way, it was probably time she began asking questions.  She’d gone on in the dark long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr at sponsormusings for snippets from my wips and other stuff I like to reblog. Like pretty pictures.


	4. Chapter 4

The day was bright and sunny, the sky a bright shimmering blue, puffed marshmallow-like clouds dotting the expanse. The buildings gleamed, smooth silver and polished glass, and the late afternoon sun bounced off the panels like diamonds glinting in the light.  It was a perfect photo opportunity really. Except for one thing.

Haymitch Abernathy strolling towards him, cursing at him through his viewfinder.

"What the hell did you do now, kid?"  He demanded without preamble.

Peeta lowered the camera, raising his eyebrow as he turned to Haymitch. The mentors eyes were tired, his lips curled in a scowl.

"I think you'll have to be a little more specific," Peeta replied calmly. He looked straight ahead, studied the crowd that filled the square in District One. They were abuzz with an odd combination of excitement and anger, markedly different to the other crowds they had already visited along the way. Anger that a lowly girl from District 12 had beaten their carefully selected and trained tributes; excitement because this was a Victory Tour, and it was expected. One _never_ did anything to displease the Capitol. He glanced at the complicated watch on his wrist. "Should you even be out here? Katniss is expected out for her speech soon."

Haymitch shrugged. "She isn't scheduled to come out for another 15. And they don't need me in there with Effie assing about. Figured I'd come and find out what the hell you said to Katniss to piss her off so much and make her hole up in her room the last few days."

Peeta swallowed heavily, but continued to look out around the square. It was set up much like District 4 in layout, so he had a decent idea where microphones and cameras were set up. He figured they were safe.

"I...I said that we needed to keep a distance," he finally muttered. "Plutarch contacted me and advised that they'd managed to intercept some footage of us on the train before it got into the wrong hands. I told her we couldn't afford for the Capitol to see anything like it, that we couldn't allow them to see us together. That it could affect the rebellion if they did."

He felt Haymitch sizing him up. "Footage on the train?" He queried, though there was hesitation in his tone. "What _kind_ of footage?"

Peeta glanced at him, noting the almost abject horror on his face, and shook his head frantically. "No! No, nothing like that. There were just two nights in her room when she couldn't sleep and I was there for her.  Completely innocent. But I can't afford any additional scrutiny, can't afford to risk the progress the rebellion has made if the Capitol decides to monitor me because of the time I spend with her. As much...as much as I want to."

Haymitch shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around him before turning back to Peeta. "Bullshit."

Peeta's eyebrows flew up. "What?"

"You heard me. _Bullshit_. Yes, yes, the rebellion. Sure, it could mean Snow's men look at you a little closer. But if you're as good as I'm led to believe, you'll come out clean as a whistle. Now c'mon. I didn't win a Hunger Games by chance, kid; I know that's only part of the reason. Tell me the side of the story you _didn't_ tell Katniss."

 _Dammit_.

"Finnick," he finally admitted, and he watched as Haymitch's eyes darkened in understanding.

"They won't get their hands on her," he growled.

"That's the plan," Peeta agreed. He let go of the camera so it hung loosely around his neck. "But they'll look for anything - any angle, any way to exploit. She's beautiful, Haymitch, and if we're not careful, they'll break her down and do to her what they're doing to Finnick. If she seems.....more desirable in any way, they'll get ideas. And I can't have that. Not at all. I won't let it happen."

"So instead you push her away, and she spends the rest of the tour shitty and scowly and damn well unpleasant."

Peeta flushed. "I- I suppose. I didn't think she'd be that affected by it."

"Affected? Ha! She almost poked my eye out with a fork this morning," Haymitch scoffed. He rubbed a hand across the grey-flecked stubble that covered his chin, and his voice softened. "Look, she's had a hard life, kid, had to grow up quicker than she should and lost people she loves. You put a look in her eye I ain't never seen. She won't admit it, will probably scoff if asked, but it’s true. Just...don't push her too far away and make her think she's gonna lose you too."

Peeta opened and closed his mouth, words escaping him. _He thought he'd been doing the right thing on all accounts_ \- _maybe he'd been wrong. But what alternatives did he have?_

"I just don't want to lose this rebellion we're planning...and don't want her to be lost to the Capitol," he finally murmured.

Haymitch shook his head. "She won't be. I'll make sure of it. We all will. We were too late for Finnick. We won't be for her." He turned to go, fingers already twitching for the flask in his pocket.

"President Snow wants to see me when I get back to the Capitol," Peeta admitted in a rush, stopping the older man. "I've never been summoned before. I can't think of anything else it would be about; either he saw us on the train, or he knows I’m a turncoat. I need to make sure I can talk my way out of it either way."

"Then you'd better be damned prepared to lie your ass off, kid. Who knows what the old man wants. Until you know for sure, quit your stressing." Haymitch glanced at his watch. "I'd better get back because I'm fairly certain Effie will be having a conniption by now. Somehow, make things right with Katniss. I'm sure you can figure something out. She's gonna need all the friends she can get."

********

District 1 disappeared behind them, a faint shimmer of lights in the distance as the train travelled further and further away. Katniss didn’t pay it any attention, instead focusing on pushing the small cookies around the china plate on her lap, and ignoring Effie’s pleas for her to eat her food, rather than play with it.  She hadn’t asked for it, had just had it placed in front of her as she sat in the screen room, exhausted as Effie ran over the schedule with herself and Haymitch for the day ahead.  It was the biggest, and most important one yet.

“Effie, I know what I’m doing, ok?” she sighed finally after another miniature lecture from Effie on punctuality.

“I _know_ you do, dear, but we must simply ensure things go perfectly,” Effie replied primly, consulting the tablet that sat on her lap. “I’ll need you awake by 5.30am, and I know how _ghastly_ that time of the day-”

“It’s fine.  I’ll be awake,” Katniss assured her.   _You need to be asleep to worry about waking up on time_ , she thought.

“Very well then,” Effie nodded, uncrossing her legs and rising to her feet.  “I must go to bed, these bags under my eyes from not having at least 9 hours of sleep a night are really not doing me any favours. Good evening.” She tottered out the door and down the corridor,  faintly murmuring to herself of eye masks and injections.

Katniss raised her eyebrow at Haymitch, and slid across on the couch closer to him.  “Involved, huh?” she asked dubiously.  She couldn’t understand how anyone that Capitol-esque could even consider rebelling.

“To a degree,” he mumbled back, crunching on a bit of ice that he’d sucked up from his glass. “I’ll tell you in 12.”

“It feels like a long way away.”

“It’ll be soon enough.”

She lowered her head, obscuring her face with a waterfall of hair. “I want to know everything you know,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“I’m…..thinking about it.”

“I know.”

She pushed her hair back behind her ear and turned her head, studying him.  Haymitch didn’t blink an eye. She should have known he wouldn’t be surprised.  They did understand each other, after all.  More than probably anyone else did. It was probably why they butted heads so often.

Probably why she didn’t know how she’d ever get through this without him.

********

They pulled into the station, but Peeta didn't need to look out the window to see the crowd, or hear the screams and whistles and yells. They were deafening, even through the heavy walls of the train. They were back in the Capitol.

_He was home._

"Quite a reception," Cinna said beside him softly. They had barely had a moment to speak while on the tour, Cinna occupied most days and nights in the dress car, refining and refitting Katniss clothes' to suit the changing weather and her shrinking frame. The stress of the tour had taken its toll, and the weight she had gained since she had left the arena had dropped from her in a week. It had pained him to see, but no amount of coaxing from anyone had been able to force any more than a few bites of food past her lips in a long while.

"As always," Peeta replied. "The Capitol loves its Victors."

"Mmm," Cinna replied noncommittally. "Will you be travelling back to 12 with us, or staying on in the Capitol?"

"I'm unsure. It depends on whether they're happy with the images I've provided so far. I'm meeting with President Snow immediately after we disembark, so he may advise me then."

He could see Cinna's eyebrow raise from the corner of his eye, but the stylist didn't say a word. At least now two people from the Rebellion knew of his meeting with Snow.  Who would have an idea of what happened to him if he was never seen again.

"Well it's been a pleasure working with you on this tour, Peeta," Cinna said softly.  "Perhaps we could work together again in the future?"

"I would be honoured," Peeta replied, and meant it. Professionally, or with the rebellion, Cinna was a good man to have onside.

The sound of feet moving down the corridor caused them both to turn, and they watched as Katniss appeared, a vision in white and pale blue. Cinna smiled and moved towards her, fixing an errant piece of hair and picking at an invisible piece of lint on the shoulder of the simple dress she wore.

"Perfect. Sweet and simple. We'll wait to dazzle them tonight at your interview, then at the mansion, yes?" He told her, and the smile that graced her lips didn't meet her eyes. Peeta noticed she didn't once glance in his direction, and it cut him to the bone.  Not that he expected any less. She was just doing as he'd asked.

He picked up his camera and prepared to follow her out.

********

"Mr Mellark?"

"Yes?"

"The President will see you now."

Peeta nodded and rose to his feet, careful to keep his nerves hidden. He'd managed to capture a dozen photos of Katniss disembarking from the train before he'd been approached by a man in a simple black suit - such a rarity in the Capitol - and ushered into a sleek, pearl white car. He'd been in President Snow's elegantly appointed waiting room ever since.

He followed the woman with legs as thin as toothpicks and hair a pale lavender down a heavily carpeted hallway and through heavy wooden doors with the seal of Panem carved into them.  Snow sat behind a wide mahogany desk, resplendent in a jacket of deep forest green, a simple white rose tucked into the breast pocket. He nodded regally, and indicated for Peeta to take a seat, waiting until his assistant had left the room.

"Thank you for arriving so promptly, Mr Mellark. My sincerest apologies at keeping you waiting. It seems we have a little....issue in district 8 that I need to remain appraised of."

"Oh?" Peeta said innocently, lowering himself into the high-backed - and decidedly uncomfortable - wooden chair across from Snow. "There didn't seem to be any issues when we were there on tour."

It was a bold-faced lie. He was well aware of the attempt to overpower the Peacekeepers by the people of 8. It obviously hadn't gone to plan.

"No, I suppose it would have seemed that way," Snow said cryptically. He waved a hand impatiently. "But enough of that. I wanted to commend you on the photographs you have supplied this far. They're very good. Certainly some of the most inspired Victor portraits in a number of years."

"Thank you, Mr President," Peeta replied humbly.

"You seem to have quite....a connection with our victor, Mr Mellark. She's not an easy one to bring out of her shell, yet you do it almost effortlessly." Snow glanced at a tablet on his desk, pressed a button delicately, and suddenly an image of Peeta and Katniss lying side by side in her bed filled the wall beside him. _Shit._ "Miss Everdeen seems to have very little issue with you, which is clearly the polar opposite reaction she has to most of my citizens." His beady eyes bore into Peeta.  "What can you tell me of this? I am certain getting this close to your subject wasn't on your job description."

Peeta coughed lightly, determined to act as naturally as possible. "The girl had a nightmare when she fell asleep in the screen room," he said blithely. "I was there to bring her out of it, and she asked me to stay when I helped her to her room. I thought it only fitting I complete the request of our current Victor. "

"Hmmmm," Snow replied, leaning forward slightly in his seat.  "Katniss Everdeen seems to be interested in you, whether she wants to or not. Am I mistaken that there is not some kind of...attraction between the two of you?"

"She's very pretty," Peeta admitted carefully. "She doesn't have the...personality or charm of some of our previous victors, but I'm certain she can overcome that with time."

Snow rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers together and regarding Peeta carefully.

"She doesn't have charm, Mr Mellark, you are correct there. But she has....something. You're not interested in her romantically? Not attached to her?"

_Oh Katniss, I'm sorry. I don't mean this._

"I will admit there is a physical attraction, but she's not the friendliest of women," Peeta reiterated, hoping what he was saying would give Snow pause in selling her off, if he was considering it. "So no."

The smile was slow, snakelike and almost venomous in its delight. "This is good to hear, Peeta. Because I have a proposal for you that could be _very_ beneficial. For both of us."

********

The dress was black, slim panels of white and red and purple blending over the bodice in intricate swirls, capping her sleeves like feathers, the skirt partially sheer from mid thigh to the floor. Part of her hair was braided and wrapped around her head, her make-up dark and dramatic - a vast difference from when she stepped from the train that afternoon to face the ecstatic and enthusiastic crowds.

It had been sheer madness, the ebb and flow of bodies around her as people tried to get close. The citizens of the Capitol loved her, the Girl on Fire. She was the current craze, and she'd been surprised to see the image of her mockingjay on pins, on fascinators, even tattooed on peoples cheeks. She'd gripped on tightly to Haymitch's hand as Effie led the way gaily through the crowd to the car that waited to take them to the Training Centre, and she'd only wanted one thing. What made her feel safe in a city full of people she didn’t understand. What she hated wanting.

Peeta had been nowhere to be seen.

She'd already finished her interview, had sat on the stage while Caesar played to the audience, smiled grimly when prompted, answered politely when required. She'd talked through the last 6 months, had given her one and only genuine smile when she spoke of Prim and of Parcel Day. And when Caesar finally wrapped up the interview, she'd breathed a sigh of relief. After tonight, she was no longer on show.

But she still had to get through an evening at the Presidential Mansion, and the likelihood that she would encounter Snow was high. Their last encounter still haunted her. _........_

_Snow reached up, placing the crown gently on her head. The smile on his face didn't reach his eyes, their cold, deadly gaze piercing her, before dropping to the pin Cinna had placed at the neckline of her lemon yellow dress at the last minute._

_"A very unique pin you have there, Miss Everdeen," he said, his voice smooth and cultured through over-plump lips._

_"It's my district token," she replied bluntly._

_"Yes it is. A mockingjay. A strange token, don't you think?"_

_"Not at all. It's perfect really. Something that overcame all odds to still exist? Not strange at all. The odds were in their favour."_

_"And the odds were in your favour indeed." He folded his arms behind his back genially, smiling for the cameras that were close enough to catch his image but not his words. "Do you think they always will be, Miss Everdeen?"_

_Katniss swallowed heavily, noted the change in his tone, in his manner. It was predatory._

_"I hope so," she replied quietly._

_"Don't we all." ........_

"Katniss?" Cinna's soft, modular tone broke through her reverie, and she shook her head, clearing it of her thoughts.

"Sorry," she apologised, still feeling the gaze of those eyes on her, even from months away. "I-I....." she trailed off, and didn't pull away when Cinna wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close.  She burrowed in, breathing in the gentle, faintly woodsy scent she knew he wore habitually.

"You're going to be fine tonight, Katniss," he said softly. "We'll all be there every step of the way. You've already gotten through the interview, it's just the banquet now. You're almost home, and then you don't have to worry anymore."

Katniss nodded against his chest, careful not to smear her make-up; she wasn't sure she could handle her prep team anymore today. They'd been pepped up on the excitement of being back home and had chattered non-stop as they readied her for the interview. The headache that had pounded behind her eyes ever since was the result.

The door to Katniss' room opened - she’d been given an hour reprieve in between the interview with Caesar and her appointed arrival time at the mansion - and Haymitch leant against the jam. "Almost ready sweetheart? Thought you might like to come up on the roof, see the sunset in the Capitol one last time before we leave for the Mansion." He looked at her pointedly, leaving her no room to argue.

Katniss stepped away from Cinna, looking at him apologetically. Haymitch surely wanted to speak with her of things the Capitol didn't need to hear, and the last thing she wanted was to involve Cinna. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he said smoothly. "I might just come and watch it with you." He smiled and nodded his head slightly; in that moment, she knew.

He was part of the Rebellion too.

********

They were all silent. The only sound was the tinkling of the wind chimes behind her, the faint rustling of branches as they stood in a group near the edge of the roof. Cinna and Haymitch stared at Peeta incredulously, just as she assumed she was. She couldn't believe what he'd just announced.

"So what you're telling me," Katniss said slowly, trying to make sense of the hurried words Peeta had spilled.  "Is you're asking me to pretend. To make the Capitol believe I'm in love with you." Her eyes narrowed.   _This was ridiculous.  Hadn’t she sworn off love?  Even if the man standing in front of her made her question that every day since she’d watched him on that porch roof?_

Peeta rushed a hand through his hair, the waves standing on end. "Yes-no-I...shit, Katniss, please don't turn this on me. I'm trying to do what I can to save you. You're in trouble, more than we thought.  You have them running scared, but they need a way to keep the people pre-occupied. His way of doing that is this star-crossed lovers of Panem shit. You're the most popular Victor since Finnick Odair.  They need to play on that, need to use you to overshadow any rumblings of discord." His arms dropped limply to his sides.  “And anyway, from Snow’s perspective, he’s asking _me_ to pretend.  Not you.”

Katniss grit her teeth in frustration.  “And that’s supposed to mollify me?  That it’s _you_ who has to ‘pretend’?” She raised her fingers in quotation marks sarcastically.

“Katniss, let Peeta speak,” Cinna said gently.  “You can’t take this out on him.”

“Who else am I going to take it out on?” she snapped, before turning back to Peeta.  "What exactly did Snow say to you?"

She listened carefully as Peeta outlined precisely what Snow had laid out to him. There were rumblings in the districts of rebellion that the Capitol had so far managed to subdue. Katniss had fed the simmering undercurrent that had been burgeoning for months, her actions of volunteering out of love and not duty, her sympathy and acknowledgement of other districts and tributes and her downright disdain for the Capitol making a mockery of the President and all he stood for.  It was Peeta’s responsibility to draw her into a relationship, keep Panem pre-occupied with a love story until they could snuff out any hints of rebellion. He would be offered the permanent position of official Capitol Photographer as his reward.

Snow hadn’t said any more, careful not to speak too ill of a Victor in front of a relative stranger. But Peeta could feel the undertone, could sense what it was Snow was _really_ telling him. And he had already been fed enough information through the rebellion to know where Snow’s real concern lay.

The Capitol didn't care for mercy, or compassion, or the questioning of their practices. Katniss Everdeen had stared down the barrel of a camera and practically pledged allegiance to Panem - minus the Capitol - with a three-fingered salute. Her final mercy killing of Cato after his tumble from the Cornucopia had been the last straw in Snow’s eyes.  And despite her permanent scowl and the charm Haymitch had once upon a time likened to a dead slug, people responded to her, were drawn to her. Even Capitol citizens who, always looking for new entertainment, had gone wild for her voice, the one that made birds stop to listen and that had accompanied Rue to sleep. He knew, as one of them.  They were enamoured.

_They had stopped to listen._

Snow was worried of her accidental influence - Panem's spark had to be extinguished, her spirit crushed, before she spread like wildfire. And only then would Snow determine what to do with Katniss Everdeen.

"So Snow is aware of the smaller rebellions in the districts, but not an all-encompassing one? He doesn't realise how deep it runs?" Haymitch queried as Peeta finished.

Peeta nodded. "It seems that way. He only called me in because he saw an opportunity to use Katniss as a distraction. Talk up a romance, get the Capitol citizens to focus on that, rather than murmurs. He's hoping it will catch on in those districts who have an allegiance to him, that they'll be caught up in that instead of getting any 'ideas'."

“And the romance angle?” Cinna asked.

Katniss watched as he rubbed his eyes wearily.  "Snow saw footage of Katniss and I on the train.  I thought he'd found me out, but he doesn't see me as anything more than a young, vapid, Capitol kid with an eye for pictures and a pretty girl, and as a means to an end. I suppose he could be playing me right now....but I can read people pretty well. I don't think he is."

Haymitch folded his arms across his chest. "I'm surprised he confided anything in you, asked you to become involved, for someone he'd never met before," he said thoughtfully.

Peeta nodded. "That's his Achilles heel, his pride, his arrogance. Plutarch has mentioned it, many times. If Snow sees a use for you, he'll use you.  I don't think it's entered his mind that his own Capitol citizens could have already turned on him."

"You really don't think he's playing you?"

"Subtle isn't Snow's game.  He told me exactly what he wanted me to know. And I have no doubt that if he had the opportunity, he would tell Katniss face to face exactly how much trouble she was in."

Katniss felt the tell-tale quiver of nerves in her stomach, then saw Haymitch nod hesitantly. "You're right. It sounds like him." He turned to Katniss, jaw clenched. "Looks like your show won't be over tonight. A long-distance romance seems to be on the cards."

Katniss fisted her hands by her sides, angry - no, _furious_ \- that Snow was doing this. _Would she forever be on show for this nation? Would she forever be doing things to make people she didn't even care about happy? Primped and prodded and rolled out like one of those beauty queens she saw on Capitol TV?_

None of it mattered.  She studied the three men that surrounded her, all willing to step up and risk their lives for a better Panem. When it came down to it, a romance with Peeta was not a hardship - she could do a lot worse. And it wasn't as though she wasn't drawn to him, because she was; more than she wanted, more than she understood.  This situation just blurred the lines for her, made her unsure of what to truly think or understand. Was it the right thing to do? She still didn't know.

"Will this....will this help the rebellion?" She finally asked. She waited until Peeta looked at her, until he caught her eye.

"Yes," he said simply. "We can turn his own plan on him.  If Snow is looking at us, he won't be looking at the others; he seems oblivious to the bigger picture, like Haymitch said.  Inroads could be made. More plans put into place. And it keeps you safe, as safe as we can keep you." He rested his hands behind him on the edge of the roof, his eyes boring into Katniss'. "Are you going to help us, Katniss?  Help the rebellion?"

She thought of Prim, knowing her name would be in that reaping bowl for another 5 years. She thought of Gale, of the way his family continued to struggle year after year.  She thought of Rue, of Thresh, of their families as they'd stared up at her from the crowd.

"Ok," she replied, shoulders straightening, her voice strengthening. _Even if she didn’t completely like it, even if she was worried she was being played for a fool, she’d do it.  She’d do it for Prim._  "Yes, I'll help. I'm gonna do everything I can to cause all sorts of trouble."

She heard Haymitch chuckle from beside her. "Atta girl, sweetheart."

********

The Mansion was even more extravagant than she’d expected.  Fairy lights lit the path that led to the front entrance, pale blue tiles cut across pristine green lawns to create walkways.  The building itself towered above her as she made her way to the front door flanked by Effie and Haymitch, four stories of gleaming windows, gilt-edged window frames and stone balconies.

Inside it was a shining example of excess, a perfect juxtaposition of where she’d grown up to where she was now.  It would have been no surprise to anyone that, if asked, she would have bluntly advised her preference for the little wooden structure in the Seam she’d called home for 16 years.

The banquet hall itself was like nothing she had ever seen before.  The ceiling soared twelve metres high, and through some kind of fanciful imagery, had been transformed into a glittering night sky.  Groupings of plush sofas dotted the room, helping revellers rest their weary feet and mingle and flirt without having to move an inch.  And the food spread out before her put the other galas during the tour to shame, and any other event she had attended in the Capitol since she’d won.

Table upon elegantly appointed table piled high with every food imaginable - soups and sweets and cured meats, platters laden with steaming purple vegetables and bowls full of red berries.  One table carried a huge roasted pig, complete with requisite apple in its mouth, but it didn’t even draw a smile from her in memory. Giant silver goblets filled with ruby-red wine were carried, slim glasses with a golden hued liquid were clasped before a hurried escape from the room.

Her appetite returned with the knowledge she was going to make a stand against the Capitol, Katniss wanted to eat it all, and not waste a bit.

She made her way around the room, nibbling at a pastry here, sipping at an zesty orange soup there, but she was never alone.  Effie and Cinna and Haymitch all spent time with her, guiding her around the room, making small talk with the guests who tried to speak with her. Her prep team cornered her at one stage, their excited chattering reminding her of the headache that wouldn’t completely go away. She’d been horrified when they’d explained the use of the golden liquid, but had not argued when they’d left her in peace to go and drink and purge themselves of their overabundance.

“Hello Katniss.”

She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath. She’d been waiting for him all night, just as they’d organised on the roof. She supposed there was no better time like the present to get this charade underway.

Katniss turned, pasting a smile on her face as she faced Peeta. It wasn’t what she was expecting, wasn’t expecting the smoothly coiffed blonde hair, or the impeccable black suit he wore - or how good he looked in it.  She was thankful that, for once, he didn’t have his camera around his neck.

“Hello Peeta.  It’s nice to see you,” she replied.  “Do you have a night free from being photographer?”

Peeta smiled, a genuine grin that showed two rows of perfectly white teeth, his incisor tooth slightly angled.  It was that that Katniss held onto, that small piece of visible imperfection that made him all the more real. “I do.  But I couldn’t ignore the invitation to attend, not with you here.” His words were smooth, and perfect for anyone who might be overhearing their conversation.  It just reminded her how good he was at his job.  “Now that I’ve arrived, I wondered if you wished to dance?”

Katniss struggled with her instinctive response of no, knowing there were at least 5 pairs of eyes around them watching their exchange with interest.  Peeta was still relatively unknown to the Capitol elite.  Katniss was as close to Capitol elite as a non-Capitolite could get.

“Ok,” she replied simply, trying not to choke on the word.  She hesitantly rested her hand in his, and allowed him to lead her to the middle of the dance floor.  He pulled her in close, much closer than Finnick had, one hand on her back, the other holding hers tightly.  She couldn’t ignore the pounding of his heart that she could feel so clearly against her chest.  The slow movements, the faint hint of cinnamon, the warmth of his body against hers, caused her to sigh quietly. She hadn’t realised how much she had missed such close physical contact, she thought, closing her eyes as she rested her head against his chest. Sure, Cinna had hugged her just hours before, and Haymitch had held her hand as they’d fought their way through the crowd from the train.

But this was different on so many levels.

The hand on the small of her back was warm, and comforting, his fingers playing gently against the soft fabric of her dress. Peeta’s breath blew softly against her hair as he rested his head against hers. She could almost, _almost_ , pretend this was real.  But she knew it wasn’t. And she wasn't sure what she hated more; Peeta pretending that it was real, or _her_ wishing it was real.

Katniss yanked her head up abruptly, stiffening in his arms as he continued to try and sway with the music. It only made him hold on to her tighter.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly.  Even on a dance floor filled with drunken Capitolites, he had to be careful.

“Nothing,” she snapped. She jerked her hips away from him so the gap between their bodies was tangible.

“It doesn’t _seem_ like nothing,” he retorted.  He pulled her in close again. "You're acting like someone who doesn't like me very much.”

“Maybe I don't.” Her voice was biting, and he visibly winced. She knew it wasn't his fault, that she'd agreed to it. It still didn't make it any easier to bear.

“Please don’t, Katniss.  I didn’t want it to be this way either.”

“You made that very clear when you drew a line in the sand in 4. Rebellion or nothing.”  They both danced in silence for a moment.  Frustration radiated off Peeta in waves.

“That’s not what I said," Peeta muttered through clenched teeth. "I said we needed to keep our distance from each other, because I was worried about the rebellion….but I was also worried about you.  Your safety is paramount to me, and to everyone else on your team, and after today it was made pretty evident by Snow that you’re not necessarily safe.”  He reached up, rested a hand lovingly on her cheek which, if they’d bothered to pay attention to those around them, drew a soft sigh from the crowd. "You have to believe me, you have to trust me."

She scowled. "I don't understand all this 'keeping me safe' business. I know Snow is angry at me, but what can he really do to me? I don't care about 'me', Peeta. I care about Prim. My family and friends back in 12. They're the only ones I'm concerned about. They're the reason I'm doing this."

He drew her in closer, dropping his head so his mouth rested against her ear. He swayed them gently to the music. "They won't hurt you in ways people can see, Katniss," he said softly. "They have other ways of hurting you, and we're doing all we can to prevent it." His words sent a shiver down her spine, but she kept her face lowered as she responded.

"What do you mean? Can you stop with all the secretiveness and just tell me?"

His fingers clenched against her back, and she felt him inhale deeply. "Ok, Katniss. You really want to know?"

"I want to know."

"Finnick isn't with those women - or men - from the Capitol by choice." He said it abruptly, almost forced the words out as if they were painful to say. Her brow furrowed, confused. And then realisation hit.

"No," she whispered into his shoulder.

"Yes," Peeta replied simply. His fingers dug into the small of her back. "I don't want them to do that to you, none of us do. I'd hoped keeping my distance would help with that."

"Instead you have to do the opposite." She could barely wrap her mind about what he was saying, let alone understand the enormity of it.

"It's the best scenario I could have hoped for. Snow did me a favour. If you're with me, you're not with anyone else." His hand drifted up her back, along her shoulder, slid into her hair behind her ear, twisting his fingers lightly in the strands that remained free of her braid. "I'd prefer it that way. I'd prefer it even more if it _could_ be real."

She closed her eyes, still weighed by his words. It didn't help that her heart felt like it was being twisted in two and her belly was full of knots. "I thought you must have been tired of me. That when we spoke in 4, it was your way of getting rid of me."

"I've told you many times Katniss, that what I feel is real," Peeta whispered. "Everything I've said to you is the truth, about how I feel, about keeping you safe. I want _you._ And nothing Snow asks me to do will change that. It's all a game to him. It doesn't have to be that way with us, not if you don't want it to be..."

She opened her mouth to respond, but found she didn't have the words. Not right now. She still had too much to absorb. So she did what she did best; she used her actions to reply.

Katniss lifted lightly on her toes, pressed a simple kiss to his lips. It was nothing like the one they'd shared in 12. It didn't have the passion, or the frustration or the insatiable need attached to it.  This one held a promise, a gentle acknowledgement that they were in this together, even if, for the moment, it may have been just for show. And for the first time in a week she felt safe. Comforted.

"Ah Miss Everdeen, Mr Mellark.  I do _hate_ to interrupt such an unexpected and sweet moment."

At the sound of the voice, she no longer felt either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments! You can find me on tumblr at sponsormusings :)


	5. Chapter 5

Katniss stilled in Peeta’s arms, felt his fingers tense around hers.  They locked eyes, and she could almost see the nod in his, his silent encouragement.  Katniss lowered herself from the tips of her toes, stepped slightly out of Peeta’s embrace.  He was still close enough that his hand rested on her hip, and she focused on that, tethered herself to it so she didn’t get lost.

“President Snow,” she greeted smoothly as she turned to face the man who had interrupted them. His suit was burgundy, his ever present lapel rose white.  She knew she should tip her head, or at least hold her hand out to shake his, but she was filled with such a convoluted mess of fear and anger, it almost choked her.  Nothing this man did was altruistic, and if he was here to speak to her, she had a feeling it was to do exactly what Peeta suspected - to tell her how much trouble she was in.

“Miss Everdeen, you look lovely this evening.  And with such a fine Capitol citizen as your companion.  Hello, Mr Mellark. It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise, President Snow," Peeta replied. A thin smile was his reply, before the white-haired man turned back to Katniss.

"Such a delight to see when Victors are able to make connections with my citizens. You must have enjoyed Mr Mellark’s company on your tour.”

“He was a nice addition to our team,” Katniss replied noncommittally.  She knew what he wanted, and although she had agreed to play the game, she didn’t particularly feel like playing it fairly.  He’d work to get whatever he wanted out of her.

“You seem to have grown quite close.”  Snow glanced down at the pristine white gloves he wore, tugged lightly at the edge that encircled his wrist.

“We have,” Peeta interrupted smoothly, allowing his arm to slide around her waist.  His fingertips pressed lightly into her hip.  “It has been a joy to get to know Katniss away from the glare of the Capitol and, of course, separately to the Games coverage.”  Katniss glanced up at him, at the sincerity in his eyes.  She knew it was real.  Snow didn’t.  Either way, Peeta knew exactly what he was doing, and playing his role to aplomb.  Snow would get his way.  He just wouldn’t be aware that they were playing by their own rules.

“Well, that is lovely to hear.  Would you excuse us for a moment, Mr Mellark?  I wish to get a little fresh air, and was wondering if Miss Everdeen would accompany me?”  His black eyes stared at her intently, and she nodded dumbly; she couldn’t very well say no.  She was surprised when he cocked an elbow, a clear indication that he wanted her to take his arm.  Katniss quickly swallowed the bile that threatened to rise at the thought of the touch of his skin, and hesitantly rested her hand on his forearm, allowing him to guide her towards the balcony doors, out into the cool air.

The view out to the lawns and gardens below was far and wide; they stretched for miles, row upon row of roses, intersected by intricately patterned pathways. Partygoers - those whose stature didn’t quite get them entry into the mansion - talked and drank and ate and danced over the grass, across a temporary silver platform that rose around a giant fountain that resembled a mythical creature from another time and place, water spouting from its mouth like a plume of smoke.  Part of her wished that if she had to be anywhere at the mansion, it was down there, where she was at least outside, where she could breathe in the air, and the grass and the flowers.

“Your victory tour was a success,” Snow began without preamble, resting his hands on the stone bannister in front of him, staring down at the crowd below.  She was surprised they hadn’t been spotted yet, that no one had called out to them.

“I….I’m glad?” Katniss replied hesitantly.

He turned to her curiously.  “Are you, Miss Everdeen?  When I say success, do you understand what I mean?”

“That it was…..good?”  She had no clue what he was trying to insinuate, but knew it couldn’t be positive.

Snow cleared his throat.  “Tell me, you’ve been through a Hunger Games now, and survived. But would you like to be a part of a real war?”

“Uh...no.  No I don’t.”

He turned to her abruptly, his grotesquely plump lips glistening in the low light. “Then tread carefully, Miss Everdeen.  Your victory tour was successful in that it continued to inspire people out in the districts to question the Capitol, its practices, _me_.  I don’t appreciate that.  And if you don’t want to be a part of a real war - if you don’t want the people you love, like your mother, your dear sister and the rest of your little family back in district 12, to die - then you’ll make sure you don’t inspire anyone anymore.”

She swallowed heavily, trying to find words in reply. “I don’t even know what I did,” she whispered, shocked that Peeta was, indeed, right.  Snow didn’t hold back.  If he wanted you to know what he was thinking, he told you.

“Yes you do, Miss Everdeen.” His voice lowered, his words laced with venom.  “You started it the moment you volunteered for Primrose, when you sang to the tribute from 11, and thanked her people with that silly little gesture of yours.  When you showed mercy to the boy from 2.  The Capitol doesn’t appreciate compassion or mercy in the hunger games, Miss Everdeen.  It defeats their purpose.  Compassion and mercy leads to giving people hope, and hope is a dangerous thing.  The districts should never be allowed to forget what they did, and why they suffer for it.” He coughed lightly, holding the back of his gloved hand to his mouth. Katniss' stomach churned at the spots of red that dotted the white when he pulled it away. "The Capitol also does not appreciate mockery. And you have done that in spades."

“But how can I stop something I can’t control?  I didn’t intend to give people hope or anything like that.  What am I supposed to do?” She folded her arms across her waist tightly, holding herself together.

“Go back to 12.  Play the dutiful Victor, and prepare yourself to return to the Capitol, to the Games.  You’re a mentor now, Miss Everdeen, a representative of the Capitol.  You should act accordingly.  I don’t believe you - or your family - will have anything to worry about if you behave yourself.”  He stepped back, studied her from the tip of her toes to the top of her braided head.  “And a little romance wouldn’t go astray.  You seem surprisingly taken with the photographer. Perhaps you should spend less time in the woods with your friend, and look to pass your time there instead.  Enjoy the rest of your evening, Victor.  It is in your honour, after all.”

Katniss’ jaw dropped as he walked away, surprised, though she really shouldn’t have been.  Perhaps just hearing the words come out of his own mouth, rather than Peeta’s, made it all the more real.  As predicted, Snow was not forward in coming back.  She was in trouble.  Not just her, but her whole family.  And he had just made sure she knew it.

********

“Are you alright?” Peeta’s fingers encircled her wrist as she walked back inside, and she looked at him, startled. He’d waited just inside the doorway from the moment she’d left with Snow, wanting desperately to try and eavesdrop.  But he’d known better - and the warning glance he’d been shot by Haymitch from ten feet away had confirmed that.  So he’d stood, and waited, made mindless chatter with another guest, and the longer she’d been gone, the more concerned he had grown. Until, finally Snow had stepped through the door, given Peeta a short but sharp nod, and swiftly exited the banquet hall.  Whatever he had come for had obviously been accomplished.

"I'm fine," Katniss replied, her eyes frantically surveying the room.

"He's gone," he told her, and he saw her shoulders drop visibly, whatever holding her strong disappearing the moment she knew Snow was gone. "What did he say to you?"

"He told me what you thought he would," she muttered, and he nodded.

"I assumed as much. Don't let it worry you. I won't let him hurt you."

Katniss glanced up at him, and he could see the incredulity in her eyes. "You can't be there every minute of every day, Peeta," she snapped. "And I don't think even you or Haymitch or whoever else is in this-" she abruptly cut off, and he knew she'd been about to blurt 'rebellion'. "None of you can stop him from doing what he wants."

Peeta's jaw clenched in frustration, because he knew she was right. They could do all they wanted, but then again so could Snow.  Hadn't he already, for over 40 years?  "You're right. But we'll try our hardest. We only want to protect you."

"And he only wants to ruin me, so it's pretty obvious everyone’s interests are completely opposite," she bit out. He didn’t stop her from aiming her bitter words at him. She was angry, and scared and worried; who else would she vent to?

He sighed, and stepped forward, slipping his arms around her waist and drawing her in. He was surprised when she allowed him to so easily, her own arms sliding around him, and for show or not for show, it didn't matter. She needed the comfort, and he needed to give it. He stood quietly for a moment, waited for her body to relax in his arms.  He let his thoughts turn over in his head, the pros and cons and different reasoning of what he should do and why.  The decision he'd been pondering over all night - since Snow had added the unexpected spanner of a relationship into the works - finally felt like the right one, especially now. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"Katniss, I'm going to stay here, I won't come back to 12 with you for the final day of the tour," Peeta whispered into her hair, and he felt her stiffen up again immediately.  Her arms locked like steel vices, though he was sure she wasn’t even aware. "I need to meet with my contacts here, need to let them know what's happening. And from here it's easier to determine what Snow is doing."

"How is that going to meet Snow's 'romance' request?" Katniss demanded through clenched teeth.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," he said simply. "You'll see me again soon, I promise. I just have things I need to do first. Haymitch will keep you safe. Your mom and Prim and...Gale will be there for you." 

He waited as she fell silent; he could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.  "And you'll get word to us on the.....the.....?"

"As always," he confirmed. "It may not be from me, but the usual channels will be used to contact Haymitch." He pulled back slightly, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You shouldn't be too hard on him, Katniss, when he tells you his story. He had reasons for keeping this from you, long before Prim's name was drawn out of that bowl."

She shrugged half-heartedly, a slight scowl on her face, and he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. Katniss Everdeen was one of a kind.

"I’ll miss you," Peeta said quietly, his lips resting against her ear as he drew her close again. Katniss’ fingers clenched in the smooth fabric of his jacket, and he felt her nod slightly. He leant back, cupping her cheeks in his hands, and searched her face for any sort of emotion, feeling, _anything_. It was a blank slate except for her eyes, and he was grateful that they still told him everything he needed to know.

"We're not a game," he reminded her gently, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

"Not a game," Katniss confirmed, and allowed him to capture her lips with his. His hands slid up her back, anchored in her hair.

A camera whirred to life on the other side of the room.  The footage would be spread across Panem by midnight.

********

The train rolled out of the station, the platform still and silent, and in distinct contrast to when they arrived.  Katniss hadn’t stood at the window to watch the outskirts of the city as they passed by, hadn’t wanted to, hadn't cared to.  Instead, she’d sat in the buffet car, stuffing cream filled pastries into her mouth.  She needed something to do, anything, and while her appetite was still in place, she was going to make the most of it.  Eat the Capitol out of house and home.

A throat clearing caused her to look up, to see Haymitch resting against the doorframe, a hand impatiently brushing at the hair that fell into his eyes.  “Hungry, sweetheart?  Not enough to feed you at the banquet?”  She shrugged, not even caring that there was cream smearing her upper lip.  “Heard you had a chat with the President."

Katniss swallowed, and leant back in her chair.  She knew she couldn’t say much, not until they got back to 12, and they could speak in private.  But she could say enough. “Yes.  He said the Victory Tour was a success, and that I should look forward to returning as Mentor for the next games.  He….he…” she coughed lightly.  “He mentioned my friendship with Peeta.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Haymitch replied lazily, sitting across from Katniss and propping his legs onto the edge of the table.  Effie was asleep - Katniss knew she couldn’t ream him out for it right now.  He reached for a silver jug in front of him, raised it to his lips and chugged the drink down without bothering with a glass.  “And what of it?”

“Nothing,” Katniss muttered, dropping the remnants of the pastry on the plate in front of her.  _There goes the appetite_.  He narrowed his eyes at her, tipping his head in question.  She nodded almost imperceptibly - after all this time, they could read other as clear as if the other had spoken aloud.  She knew what he was asking, if what Peeta had said was right.

“Well, it didn’t seem like nothing on the dance floor,” Haymitch countered, playing along.  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance properly until tonight.”

“Dancing in the Capitol is a little different to dancing in the Districts,” she snapped back quickly, without thinking, and she winced.  “I mean…..yes.  Peeta is a good dancer.  I just followed his lead.”

"Just saying. You definitely looked cozy."

"I think the last thing I would call anything at that party is cozy," she retorted.

"Either way, embrace it while you can, sweetheart. May as well make the most of it." He shrugged, then dropped his feet to the floor. "Well that's about it for me. I think I'll have a nightcap in my room. See you back in 12. Try to put a smile on your face."

"Who are you, Effie?"

"Wouldn't you rather hear that kind of shit from me instead of her?" Haymitch raised an eyebrow, snatched the remaining pastry from her plate and shoved it in his mouth, chewing noisily as he turned away.

She watched as he walked out of the car, feet steady despite what Katniss knew was an abundance of alcohol over the course of the night. She sometimes considered the option of drinking herself to sleep every night, to keep her from her nightmares, and dull the hours where sleep refused to come. Then she dismissed it, remembered the way the sleeping aids Effie had given her had made her feel, and she knew she wouldn't be any better for it.

Rising from her seat, she wrapped the thin cardigan she wore around her body, and moved down the hall towards her room. But she paused as she got to the door of Peeta's quarters, the door resolutely closed. There wasn't the sliver of light she was used to seeing lining the crack at the bottom of the door, and before she talked herself out of it, she pressed the small silver button on the panelling, the door sliding open with barely a whisper. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, the scent that was so uniquely him still lingering behind in the room. With a final glance down the corridor behind her, she closed the door, and made her way over to the bed in the dark, crawling over it, not even bothering to pull the covers back. She tucked her head between two pillows, wrapped her arms around a third, and hoped even the faint scent of Peeta would help her rest.

It did. At least until the nightmares came.

********

The lock slid into place behind him, and Peeta dropped the slim satchel he carried into the x-ray cavity. He stepped through the scanner, watched as the purple light pulsed over his body. Neither machine beeped - he didn't expect them to - and the moment the light blinked off, the secreted panel in the wall swung open, the faint light from beyond spilling into the small room. Cressida leant against the frame, her arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

"Well, haven't you made an impression in the last couple of weeks?" She rolled her eyes, shifting slightly to allow him room to pass as he slid the bag back over his head.

"Hello to you too, Cressida," he replied, moving towards the grouped chairs on the far side of the room. He slumped into the closest one, tugged at the collar of the jacket he wore, freeing it from his neck. _He hated Capitol fashions, always had, always would_.

Peeta watched as Cressida sat down across from him, crossing her legs. She was an unusually attractive woman, one who was quiet but commanding, one who had opinions and wasn't afraid to share them. She hadn't risen through the production ranks of the Capitol’s most profitable media company by accident. She was calm, competent, sympathetic when required, firm when not. And she certainly didn't suffer fools. Outwardly, she seemed so pro-Capitol it was hard to correlate the image with the rebel inside. But he knew her history - knew of her mother who had ended her own life, knew of her father who had been a Capitol film star who had profited professionally from the death of his wife, and the endless stream of prostitutes that had filed through their home afterwards, some of them victors against their will. Cressida had her reasons as much as anyone to bring about change.

He gratefully accepted a glass handed to him, swallowed the amber coloured liquid thirstily as he studied the people gathered around the room. The buzz was palpable, as though the last few weeks had lit a spark to the rebellion flame.  "Cinna had to return to 12 with Katniss," he told her simply. "So he can't make it."

"So I assumed," she replied drily. "I didn't expect you tonight. Figured you'd be cozied up with the Mockingjay." Cressida glared at him, fingers brushing absently against the bare skin at the back of her head. Then she dropped all pretences. "Shit, Peeta, what are you thinking! I mean, Plutarch raised it earlier, but I thought he made it clear to you to be careful. And now you're damned well kissing her in front of the entire country? Do you know how much it will take to spin this?" She pressed a series of buttons on a watch she wore that was similar to Peeta's, a holograph popping up in front of her. She angled it so Peeta could see the news report that was currently gracing every channel in Panem, and the clear photo of Peeta and Katniss kissing. He flushed, watched as his fingers gently wound into Katniss' hair, as her own clutched and kneaded at the back of his jacket. He ignored the curl of absolute and utter need that lanced through him.

"I can explain," he began, and she rolled her eyes before snapping off the hologram.

"You'd better, because-"

"He doesn't have to explain, Cressida." Plutarch's gregarious voice echoed from behind them and they turned. The robust man was smiling as he crossed to them. "I just came from a meeting with President Snow. Unexpected request indeed....but how well it works in our favour." He turned to Cressida, and winked. "The President has requested our boy here to form a romantic attachment with Miss Everdeen. We will have almost 24/7 access to our most valuable asset, no questions asked. Well done," he nodded at Peeta. "Well done."

"I didn't set out for that to happen," Peeta shook his head. "But it works for us, yes. And for me."

"And for you," Plutarch agreed.  He sat beside Peeta, crossing his arms over his ample girth. "Cressida's right, I did warn you, Peeta. You're just lucky it played out this way. I don't know what you said to Snow for him not to realise you feel the same, but whatever you did….”

“It helped that he didn’t see that original footage,” Peeta admitted.  “That would have been more incriminating on my part.  And after your warning, I tried to keep a distance from Katniss.”

“Hold on,” Cressida interrupted.  “Let me get this straight.  Snow wants you to be in a relationship with Katniss, but doesn’t know you have feelings for her?”

Peeta nodded, leaning forward in his seat.  “That’s about it.  He must have noticed our…connection, but thinks it’s only one way.  He’s asked me to have a faux romance with her, to distract from the trouble in the districts.  So people focus on Katniss even more, and not think about the possibility of a rebellion.”

Cressida pursed her lips, fingers tapping on the arm of her chair.  “Hmm, ok.  We can work with this.  Not what I was expecting….but workable.  Why didn’t you go back with her? That would have been the predictable thing to do. What Snow would have expected you to do.”

“Because I needed to check in.  I’ve been out in the field for almost three weeks, and connecting via comm isn’t always the best way.  I figured I could catch up with the team here, put in an obligatory visit to my family, and then go out there.  It will have more impact if we have a reunion of sorts.”

Plutarch nodded approvingly.  “This is good thinking, very good thinking.  You’re right, visually and emotionally, it’s the right call.  Snow would like it, and it does give you time to reconnect on what’s been happening in terms of our plans.  You’re becoming quite the agent for us, Peeta.  Quite cunning.”

Peeta shook his head.  “I’m not trying to be cunning or be a top agent.  I'm doing it for the rebellion and for Katniss.  The decisions I currently make are for her well-being and safety.  And If I’m here over the next few days, I can keep more informed of what Snow’s doing.” He paused, took another swallow of his drink.  “What has been happening?

Plutarch stood and flicked his wrist towards the bare wall beside them. It was suddenly filled with overlapping live images, of the Capitol, of 12, of 8 and 4, of 11 and 7.  "Rebellion is what's been going on, Peeta. No wonder Snow is scared, and wants to protect the Capitolites. Look at what's happening."

Peeta couldn't take his eyes off the images. Fighting in the streets, flags with the mockingjay symbol being waved through the air as fire blazed in buildings around them. Peacekeepers in some districts being rounded up by crowds, and herded into stocks like cattle. Other district Peacekeepers armed with guns and stunners, rampaging through a hysterical crowd.  A man - covered in soot and dirt, his clothing ragged - giving an impassioned speech to people surrounding him.

“How….how are you getting this footage?”

“The same place Snow is getting it, we’re just riding off the security feeds in the districts,” Cressida told him.  “But it won’t be like this out there for long - more troops are shipping out tomorrow to stop it.”

“It won’t stop them,” he muttered.  “It might put a dent in their progress, but it won’t stop them.”

“No it won’t,” Plutarch agreed.  “And now is the time to capitalise on it.  Snow is fighting a losing battle.”  He closed down the images, clasped his hands behind his back.  “Do what you need to do to keep Snow appeased.  He wants you to distract the districts with a love story?  Make it his distraction. His own missteps will be his own downfall.  I can assure you.”

Peeta nodded, mind still whirling from the images he’d seen.  The rebellion was coming.  And there would be nothing the Capitol could do to stop it.

********

Katniss stared out at the lake in front of her, at the frozen blanket that covered the water below. She knew he’d come, the path she’d left had been clear enough.  She’d been back for almost an entire week, and hadn’t been able to see him, what with him working in the mines 6 days out of 7.  But she knew Gale wouldn’t miss an opportunity to venture out into the woods, not when he was stuck in the depths of the earth, dirt and soot and fetid air clogging his lungs every other day of the week.

She'd barely had time to breathe herself, the week a whirlwind of parties, of district celebrations, of - falsely - reassuring her mom and Prim that she was ok. And she'd arrived home to manic media coverage of her final kiss with Peeta, which had resulted in more interviews, more soundbites - more threats from her prep team to keep herself looking immaculate at all times. They were eyebrows, not eyebrow.  Everytime she wondered if it was worth it, she would remind herself of the rebellion, of the change she was hoping to help bring about. She would remind herself of Peeta. And instead wonder how, in a matter of weeks, he had become such an integral part of her life.

Haymitch hadn't told her his reasons for joining the rebellion, nor how long he'd been involved.  After Effie had handed her a single disc before she returned to the Capitol, and advised Katniss to watch it alone, he hadn't needed to. The stunning events of Haymitch's own games - his unexpected alliance with Madge's aunt Maylisee, his using the arena itself as a tool to defeat his final opponent, the sheer physical toll it took on him as his intestines threatened to slip through the fingers holding them in - had helped her to understand her mentor more than she'd expected. But it hadn't been until she'd seen the footage of him arriving home to an older woman, a young boy and a beautiful girl with sooty dark hair and smiling eyes, that she truly understood.  She had never seen these people, never even heard of them. It wasn't hard to determine that Haymitch’s deeds in beating the gamemakers at their own game had resulted in the ultimate sacrifice. No, Katniss didn't need an explanation anymore. Not when she completely and utterly realised she would do the same.

He'd been right to keep it from her, right to have her oblivious until the absolute moment she needed to know. It didn't matter how long he'd been involved, not right now. But it didn't make it easier to swallow though, knowing she'd been kept in the dark for so long.

A throat clearing behind her startled her, and she lost her balance, reaching out with her hands to break the fall from her haunches.

"Shit, Catnip, sorry. I thought you heard me....." Gale's voice trailed off, and he reached down to help her steady herself. She brushed the dirt and snow from her hands and shrugged.

"No big deal," she muttered, though her heart pounded with fear. When had she lost that tickle in the back of her neck, dulled the sixth sense that had served her so well?

_When you had to kill children for sport, Katniss._

She turned to Gale then, noticed the firm set of his jaw, the way his nostrils flared as he breathed heavily. He planted himself firmly on a large rock opposite her, and the only thing she could think to describe his expression was glowering.

"You found the trail," Katniss said lightly.

"Yeah. Wasn't hard."

"Didn't think it would be, for you."  They fell into silence, awkward and odd, and she realised he hadn't even acted this way when she got home from the games. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" He glanced up at her incredulously. "You're pandering about kissing that damned photographer, and you're asking me what's wrong?" Her jaw dropped at his bluntness, at his unprovoked attack - this was not how she imagined their conversation to go. Her temper flared immediately.

"Yes!" She practically yelled it, and winced as a startled flock of birds nearby took flight. _Some kind of hunter she was_. "Seriously, this is the first time we've seen each other since I got back, and you want to start it fighting?"

He scowled. "I just don't understand you. You say you hate the Capitol, curse them for what they did to you. Hell, you've been listening to me rant about the Capitol for years. And suddenly that pretty boy flutters his eyelashes at you, and you're preening like a teenager!"

"Fuck you, Gale," she snapped. "And last time I checked, I am a teenager. Which is how I got reaped in the first place." She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood to the surface.  "What's it got to do with you anyway?"

He shook his head, folding his arms across his bent knees. "He's from the Capitol, Katniss. What good will come of this? I mean, all these years you never paid any attention...."

"Any attention to what, Gale?"

He looked up at her then, and she was surprised at the look in his eyes. She shouldn't have been. Peeta had known it. She even had, deep down.

"I used to think....maybe....about us. That when it was all over, it would be us. You and me against the world, Catnip. Maybe we'd run away like we talked about the morning of the reaping." He paused, scuffed his toe in the dirt. "And then I realised no, you wouldn't allow it. You said it often enough, and I finally had to listen. You weren't interested in marriage, kids, whatever. Didn't mean that there wasn't a part of me that wished otherwise."

Katniss dropped her head. She couldn't look at him, not when he was saying things like this.

"But now, in a matter of weeks you're kissing some Capitol asshole, who compliments his way into everyone's good books-"

"Don't you dare!" Katniss hissed, raising her head and pointing her finger at him angrily. "Peeta is one of the most sincere people you would meet in your life!"

"No one from the Capitol is sincere, Katniss!" His proper use of her name expressed how angry he was. "He's a manipulator! You don't even know him!"

"I know him enough!" Katniss retorted, though she had to admit to herself there were times when she hated that he was from the Capitol, or that there were parts of Peeta she didn't even know yet.

_Yet._

"Either way, how on Earth could you think that someone from there could be any better for you than someone from 12?!"

"It's not like that, and neither is he!" She snapped. "You just don't get it. You haven't, not since I got back."

"Then what is it like?" Gale snorted. "It seems pretty obvious to me."

"We have to pretend!" She blurted, and then raised a hand to her mouth in horror. Shit. She hadn't meant to do that.

He scoffed, loudly. "So now you're pandering to the whole Capitol? Playing their games? When did you become one of them?"

She couldn't stop the hand that reached out and struck him, leaving a firm handprint on the side of his cheek. "You asshole. I knew you wouldn't understand."

"Then explain it to me," he retorted sarcastically, not even acknowledging her striking him.

"Why should I bother?"

"Because last time I checked we were still on the same side."

She crossed her arms, took a deep breath. No matter that they were fighting right now, Gale had been the person she'd shared so many of her thoughts and feelings with over the years. It was only right she shared this with him. In some ways, it would make the burden easier to bear, especially without Peeta here.

"Peeta is part of a rebellion," she muttered. "And everything I'm about to tell you could get you killed, so just shut up and listen."

She told him of the night she discovered Peeta's operation - albeit leaving out a few details - and of what had happened in 11 with the old man shot in cold blood. She told him of her subsequent conversations with Haymitch, with Cinna, and Peeta's shocking announcement of President Snow's request. She told him of Snow's threats against her family, including him.  Katniss watched as Gale's face ran the full gamut of emotions - incredulity, shock, surprise, annoyance, anger. He stood, stalking back and forth in front of her.

"So now you're part of a rebellion," he stated once she'd finished.

"Yes. So is Haymitch, and Peeta and Cinna. Effie, to a minute degree. There are others in the Capitol I don't know of yet, others in the districts. Other victors."

"Then how do I get in with this?"

"What?" Her jaw dropped, surprised.

He scoffed. "You think you can tell me about a rebellion and not want to get involved? Catnip, there's been talk in the mines for months. Hell, probably years. Do you think any of us like this, like the way we're forced to live while Capitol citizens dance around at parties? No. Tell me what I can do."

"I....I don't know," she stammered. "I'm not even sure I was supposed to tell you."

"You've told me now," Gale replied simply. All the anger in his eyes and his voice that had been so obviously aimed at her had disappeared. He sighed, and dropped to his haunches in front of her. "You know I'll do whatever I can to keep you, our families, safe, right?" She nodded. "Good. Then you know when the time comes, I'll be ready to fight, be a part of whatever this uprising is. Things need to change. And I'm on your side, Catnip."

He stood again, walking away before turning to face her. The slant of the early winter sun shifted across his face, and she couldn't see his expression properly. "So you're with the photographer just for the rebellion?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it before shaking her head. "No," she replied softly.

He nodded once before turning on his heel and disappearing into the woods.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - And now that the gloriousness that was CF has been released, updating will get a little bit back to normal :)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kudos and comments. They absolutely make my day.
> 
> If you have a moment, I would love to encourage you to hop on over to the account of Baroness Kika. She so wonderfully gifted me a fic for my birthday called "Upon this Winter Night", and it is definitely worth reading, she did an amazing job!


	6. Chapter 6

The door closed quietly behind him, sliding back into place and blocking out the noise from the busy street outside.  He’d known from age 10 how to open it without the little chime going off; he didn’t want to interrupt them, not while both his father and brother were busy serving.

It had been more than a month since Peeta had seen them.  Preparations for the Victory Tour and the tour itself, combined with the last week full of unofficial meetings with Rebels and official preparations for his travel out to Twelve, had left him very little time to meet with his family. And while on the one hand, he missed his father and brothers and looked forward to seeing them, on the other was his mother.  And he knew, he _knew,_ she would hate what had happened in the time since the Victors Ball.  

Deliah Mellark was Capitol through and through, and in her opinion, not even a Victor should be looked at twice.

  
So he waited, and watched as they went through the motions, as Aaran Mellark’s long green dreadlocks swung around his shoulders as he turned away from the back shelf, as Nolan Mellark smiled widely at a customer as they exchanged coin. Two kids in electric blue suits - almost identical to what he remembered seeing Caesar Flickerman wearing all through the last games - ran around their parents as they perused the display case, chanting “ _Mockingjay cakes!”_ over and over in high sing-songy voices. 

He heard a loud, exaggerated clearing of a throat, and saw his brother's smiling eyes - highlighted by a swipe of metallic gold eye shadow - looking in his direction. He tipped his head towards the back kitchen, and Peeta nodded, slipping around the hyperactive kids and into the relatively quiet part of the bakery.

It was spotless, filled with high-grade Capitol equipment that could help to prepare a wedding cake in 2 hours or 2 dozen perfectly iced cupcakes in less than 10 minutes. Nolan Mellark had often commented on the yellowed, aging books of his forefathers that told of mixing by hand, of frosting cakes with intricate patterns for hours on end.  Those age old methods may have been what had made _Mellark’s_ the hottest bakery in the Capitol over 60 years ago, but it was the adaptation of these methods and recipes into being able to produce goods efficiently and quickly that kept them in top spot. 

Peeta slid onto one of the silver high-backed stools that had been there from when he was a child, waiting for his brother to step through the door.  He was surprised to see his father, his white baker’s uniform still spotless, the snazzy blue and red scarf tied around his neck with a flared bow.

“Peeta,” Nolan greeted, a smile on his face.  “It’s been awhile since we saw you last.” 

Peeta nodded, waited til his father dropped onto the seat beside him.  They had similar builds, the Mellark men.  Broad shoulders, slim hips, strong chests and arms from the manual labour of moving around produce and industrial sized bags of flour.  Blond hair, though the elder's had thinned in the last few years.  Bright blue eyes, though only Peeta had retained the almost unnatural shade.  Nolan had given in to the nagging of his wife a long time ago and now sported a bright violet hue.

It made Peeta think of Katniss, and how every time she made mention of his eyes.  She still believed them to be a Capitol vanity, a vivid blue to cover a much less inviting colour.  He really should tell her that every time he looked at her, he was looking at her unhindered.  There was nothing Capitol enhanced in his body. 

“I tried to come over earlier in the week,” he apologised.  “But I’ve been quite….busy.”

“So it seems.” Nolan Mellark folded his arms across his chest.  “Some interesting developments this week.” 

Peeta nodded.  The blush that would have crept across his cheeks as a young teen, being caught daydreaming about Capitol actresses Emerald Washington and Serenity Crawford, no longer appeared.  These days he could smoothly twist and turn words without blinking an eye.  “Yes, I suppose you saw the footage.”

Nolan chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement.  “We did indeed.  Well, your mother screamed bloody murder, so we had to investigate why she was yelling at the projector.  And we’ve received quite a number of calls from journalists.  Not, uh, what we expected of you when you began this position with Capitol Productions.” 

_There it was.  The first dig, albeit probably unintended._

“I didn’t expect it to happen either,” Peeta told him simply.  “But Katniss is a wonderful woman.” 

“A high profile woman, Peeta.  A Victor.  A woman from another district.” He said the final few words quietly, as if Deliah Mellark would pop out from behind the convection oven immediately and begin a tirade.

“It doesn't matter to me,” he replied.   

Nolan sighed, leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You know I want you to be happy Peeta….But do you know what you’re getting yourself in for?  You’ve seen how some of the other victors are.  One man this week, another man - or woman - the next.  I’ve seen Finnick Odair on enough of those Celebrity exposés your mother loves to watch to last me a lifetime.  Do you want to end up on one of those programs as well?”

Peeta sighed inwardly.   _Oh, how naive these people were, how oblivious they were to the dark side of the Capitol.  Everything was shiny and rosy to them, the Victors spoiled and happy, the Games a time to bet and take odds.  Finnick was no more flaunting himself than Coriolanus Snow was dictating it._  

“No, Dad, I don’t.  But this is different.  Trust-”

“Where is that ungrateful little shit?” His mother’s voice thundered down the stairs, feet stomping against wood, and Peeta sighed; he could only assume she’d been upstairs in the office, and had seen him on the security feed. 

Deliah Mellark appeared, and glared at him from the foot of the stairs. All 5’5” of her, resplendent in a blood red dress that cinched at the waist, her stark black hair streaked with purple and twisted into a high top knot, her skin a baby smooth pink markedly different to the freckled skin he remembered from his youth.

“So you leave us in the lurch to flaunt around town with a slut from a _coal mining district?_ ” she hissed. 

“Hello to you too, Mother,” he greeted.  He reigned in the temper that wanted to flare, that wanted to remind her he’d walked away from the bakery well before today.

Had already determined, long ago, that he would never be what they wanted him to be. 

“Don’t try to be all polite with me, boy.  Polite doesn’t stick their tongue down the throat of some whore of a Victor in a public place.”

“Deliah,” Nolan sighed, turning to his wife.  “Stop.  Peeta stopped by to say hello, he’s been so busy with his job-” 

“Oh, spare me,” Deliah snapped.  “He’s just here to show off, and it won’t work with me.  He made his bed a long time ago, and he’ll have to lie in it when it all crumbles around him.  She’s just using him, until the next good thing comes along.”

“I’m not here to show off to anyone,” Peeta said quietly, his hands gripping the edge of the chair, knuckles tense and white.   _Why did he bother?_ “Just to say hello before I go out of town again.”   

“Fine.  I suppose you’ve done that now, you can go,” she said dismissively.

“Deliah….” it was like an echo, one Peeta had grown up with, had gotten used to.  It always had been, and always would be, ineffective. 

“No, Nolan.  I don’t care what he has to say.  He walked out on this family the minute he decided to do that stupid job, instead of being responsible, carrying on the work of the family.  Even if he was useless, it was his birthright to continue working in _Mellarks_.”

 _Useless, waste of space, incompetent, a mistake.  He’d heard them all before.  She’d made it very clear that his family no longer needed him.  The words still hurt, though the mask he could put on kept it inside._  

He stood abruptly, pushed the stool back in under the counter.  “It never ceases to amaze me Mother, that you will look down on a Victor for what they’ve done, where they’re from, but you’re not above using their face, their name, to sell your products. _Mockingjay_ cakes? What does that say for you?”  He turned to his father, noticed the violet eyes were sad and apologetic.  “It was good seeing you, Dad.  I’ll say goodbye to Aaran as I go through, ask him to say hi to Ethen.  I’ll come and see you when I’m back in town.”  He brushed past his mother without so much of a glance, her heady perfume that smelt like a combination of candy and fake gardenias overwhelming him, and he fought back the urge to gag.  

He said goodbye to his brother, but didn’t look back at the familiar sign of his family’s bakery as he pushed through the door.  He didn’t notice the busy street, or the pedestrians that filled the pathway.  He headed straight for the one bedroom apartment he’d moved into on his own as soon as he could afford, on the other side of the suburb he’d grown up in.  And it wasn’t until he’d firmly ensconced himself in his shower, water falling over him at his preferred temperature, and the room filled with the scent of pine and earth - anything to remind him of Katniss - that he allowed his chest to hitch and the tears to fall.

 ********

Her hands twisted together in front of her, her heart raced a million miles a minute.  She watched as the train slowed to a stop, the brakes smooth and quiet, so different to the emergency brakes she’d yanked viciously on while on the Tour.

Katniss couldn’t understand why she was so nervous. It was just Peeta, and hadn’t he already seen her at her weakest, at her most vulnerable, and still want her?

The three days since her encounter in the woods with Gale had dragged.  The flurry of activity around her return, around the kiss with Peeta, had quietened, though she knew it would change once he was back in Twelve.  She had spent her time pottering about in the backyard, or learning the piano with Madge, or attempting to wake Haymitch from a drunken stupor.  Her mother and Prim had been busy with numerous cases of frostbite, or of children uncontrollably shivering with chattering teeth.  In many cases for those children, it was nothing but food or a blanket that could help them; even with the Capitol food parcels, winter was harsh.  Katniss wished there was more she could do, but what?  The Capitol rationed the parcels per head, per household, though the most recent one had been significantly smaller than the last.  She wondered if it was a way for President Snow to express his displeasure in her, wondered what today’s deliveries would look like.

If she’d learned anything since the Victory Tour, it was to second guess everything.  Especially now that she’d learned the full extent of Snow’s anger. 

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as the door to the train finally slid open; there he was, fitted out in a grey jacket that looked warmer than anything even _she_ owned as a Victor, a smile on his face, his blond hair coiffed in the swoop that was currently so popular in the Capitol. Katniss stayed back, avoiding the platform now busy with train staff unloading packages. But it didn’t stop Peeta, and he made a beeline for her, almost dancing around the people to get to where she waited. And she realised she didn’t want to wait to get to him.

They collided, no pleasantries, no hellos, just a melding of lips and of hands and of sighs. Until she felt her feet slip from under her on the icy path and found herself sprawled across Peeta in the snow, a surprised laugh bubbling up in her chest. His eyes laughed at hers, and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.  He reached up, his lips pressing against hers again until her limbs felt like jelly and she’d sunk into his embrace.

She could feel the snow on her fingers as she tangled them in Peeta’s hair, heard the faint sound of feet as people passed by them on the platform.  But she could only focus on him, the warmth of him under her, his lips soft and sweet against hers.  She was surprised at how much she’d missed him, how much something had felt like it had been missing since her return from the Capitol.

Her breath hitched as she thought of her mother, and she pulled away abruptly.

Peeta’s hand reached up, brushed back the hair that had fallen into her eyes.  “Hey there,” he said quietly. 

“Hi,” She replied. “Nice trip?”

“This one was better,” he smiled, indicating to their position on the ground.  She raised an eyebrow at him, before the small chuckle fell from her lips.   

With some effort, she pulled herself up off the ground, Peeta following suit, and they brushed off the snow that had collected on their jackets.  If Peeta noticed the people staring at them or the cameras trained in their direction, he didn’t mention it.  But the colour crept up on Katniss’ face as she watched people from both the Seam and Town staring at them as they collected deliveries, as they eagerly waited for this month’s food parcels from the Capitol. Some of them were curious, others envious - one or two downright judgemental. What that meant, Katniss didn’t know.  And she didn’t care to find out.

She ignored the cameras that, she suddenly realised with a sinking heart, had captured their reunion, the bald woman stalking around the platform as she complained about lighting. _Even a sincere reunion wasn’t good enough without a spotlight_.   _So much for normal._  

Looking over Peeta’s shoulder, she saw the luggage cart being pushed towards them by a Capitol attendant, bags and boxes of various shapes and sizes piled high. “Peeta - this is a lot of luggage,” she said, unable to hide the disdain in her voice.   _Why did he have to flaunt his Capitol heritage in front of her own district people, those who obviously were in a lot more need than himself?  He was against this, she knew he was and_ -

He shook his head infinitesimally, his words quiet and murmured under his breath. "Appearances, Katniss." She cringed, ashamed at her thoughts. _Of course._  Yes, it was his - but he was from the Capitol. He had a persona to portray, a role to fill.  How could coming with anything less be acceptable?

He cleared his throat. “Well, yes - I’m unsure exactly how long I will be staying.  Plus Effie and Cinna both asked me to send some gifts along to you.  They miss their Mockingjay when she isn’t in the Capitol,” he told her, projecting his voice loudly and smoothly, watching as the cases and boxes were loaded into the car that would take them back to Victors Village.

“More clothes from Cinna?” Katniss queried.  She already had a closet bulging with dresses and blouses and skirts and trousers that she would never likely wear, would have no use for out in the dirt and coal dust of Twelve.

“Just a few.  Some pieces he’s been working on for you for awhile now.  I think he kept them a secret from you.” He nudged her in the shoulder with a smile on his face, before wrapping his arm around her waist, drawing her close.  He dipped his mouth close to her ear. “He’s been preparing these since you won, hoping you’d come on board one day.” He kissed the skin below her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, before straightening and heading towards the now loaded car. He turned back to Katniss, held a hand out to her.  “Coming?” 

She nodded, taking his hand and tucking the other deep into the pocket of her leather jacket.

********

In the deepening twilight, the car pulled away from the road, Katniss and Peeta watching as it drove down the street that led away from Victor’s Village.  The last few boxes sat at their feet, the rest already having been transported into either the Everdeen’s home, or the Capitol house Peeta had stayed in during his last visit.

“How were things after I left the Capitol?” she asked quickly and quietly, before her mother or Prim called her in for dinner.   

“Snow I heard very little about,” Peeta admitted with a sigh, “But the rebellion is slowly but surely taking hold in some of the Districts. We're also focusing on obtaining the plans for The Nut in Two.  It’s been hard - we haven’t been able to reach our contact there since the tour finished.”

He paused, picked up the two boxes before turning and offering the crook of his arm to her.  Only slightly hesitant in her acceptance, Katniss threaded her arm through his, and they began walking towards the Everdeen house.  “The Capitol itself though?  Indulgent as ever.  They’ve been replaying our kiss for days.  I turned down three interviews, and had to practically toss a journalist from my front door.  My family were hounded at their bakery.” Katniss’ mouth dropped open - she hadn’t even thought of what the exposure would do to Peeta, how it might affect him, or the family she knew so little about. 

“Why...why didn’t you do any of the interviews?” she asked tentatively, stopping them on the path.

“My contacts advised against it at that stage,” he began, careful to keep his voice low.  They were still far enough away from any of the houses and their surveillance, but he didn’t want to take any chances.  “Keeps the mystery, the intrigue.  Panem’s star crossed lovers and their secret love affair.” He rolled his eyes. “But in all honesty, I’m glad he gave that directive.  I don’t _want_ to talk about us.  We aren’t for them, remember?  I’m not with you because Snow dictates it, not with you because people think we look pretty together, or because it will advance my career.  I’m with you - or I _want_ to be with you - simply because I want to be.  And I don’t see the point in having my face plastered everywhere right now to say that.” 

“But that will change,” she said simply.  She knew it would.  If Snow wanted them to play up a relationship, distract from the growing unrest and unease, he’d _want_ their faces plastered everywhere.  Alone, together, it didn’t matter.

_As long as she didn’t have to go back to the Capitol any time soon, she’d do it.  The stakes were high, and when it was her family involved, she wasn’t taking any chances.  Not anymore._

“It will change,” he agreed.  “But we should enjoy this while we can.” 

“This?” Katniss echoed.

“This.” He looked around them to the white-washed landscape, to the empty Victor’s village. “No-one but us.” 

“And my family,” she reminded him.

“They _are_ us, Katniss,” he said simply.  “I meant free of reporters, of cameras in your face, of - no offence - your prep team.  Enjoy these last few moments of stillness, Katniss. Snow will have his way, and we will be _the_ show to watch.  And everyone will want to.”

She nodded, her stomach feeling as though it was lined with lead at the thought.  She would be on show for the Capitol for as long as they wanted, as long as they deemed it necessary.  But when she thought of the alternative - being sold like Finnick, of the war Snow had promised that could ruin her family - it paled in comparison.  If all she had to do was smile at Peeta, hold his hand, she’d been fine. 

Holding his hand had helped her to sleep at night.  It felt like a gift, not a curse.

At least for now. 

********

“The District is, largely, unchanged since my last visit.  A sweep of the station by Cressida - it was good to have her be able to accompany me on the train trip, by the way - seemed to indicate new listening devices and additional cameras, as opposed to last time.  She’ll know for sure once she can get back to the Capitol and check her scanner properly.  We only had a few moments to speak before I left, but it seems someone has been busy while Katniss was away.”  Peeta waited for his words to relay to Plutarch - the delay was something they couldn’t avoid, with the distance and the amount of security they had around their comm channels - and watched as the man nodded. 

“I’m not surprised.  There was a lot of movement out in Three, technology shipments tripled in the weeks of the tour. Publicly, they were marked as replacements for equipment that had become obsolete.  Which, in essence is true.  But the equipment they were replacing became obsolete about ten years ago, not last month.  No one has cared much of Twelve since Abernathy’s win, Katniss changed that.  The footage they were getting of the District wasn’t suitable for their needs anymore.”

“They needed sound, not just vision,” Peeta surmised. 

“Yes,” Plutarch confirmed. “Which means you’ll have to take extra precautions until we can confirm if the Village has been upgraded too.  It's harder for them to make changes in there unnoticed, or without good reason, but still.  Advise Haymitch to be careful in his home.  Warn Katniss not to go into the woods - stop her friend from going in there as well.  He needs to be careful too, if what Katniss said is correct.  Snow is threatening her whole family, and in places like Twelve, neighbours _are_ family.  Hell, they’re likely cousins three times removed.”

“How far out do you think the new cameras would observe? Into the woods, I mean?” Peeta asked.  He knew Katniss would have gone out there since she’d come back, and without a doubt Gale would have as well.  What would they have talked about?  Would Katniss have told him anything?  

He watched as Plutarch shrugged.  “Maybe at least 100 metres?  Regardless of how far they observe, it will still show them going out there, even if they can’t see or hear what they’re doing.” He paused, looked down at his desk carefully before raising his gaze back to the camera lens. “Some people in our ranks have already queried that, Peeta.  They seem confused about the amount of time she spends in the woods alone with a young man. It was a non-issue during her games, but now that Snow has given you this directive….” He trailed off, waited expectantly for Peeta’s response.

“Nothing is going on with Katniss and Gale,” Peeta said firmly.   _At least not from Katniss’ perspective_.  “Whoever is questioning it needs to stop.” He leant forward in his seat, in the middle of the sparsely furnished kitchen in the Capitol house.  The early morning sun speared through the open curtains, and he blinked as his movement took him directly into the stream of light.  “And I don’t want to have to explain _again_ how I am _not_ just doing this for Snow.”  His jaw clenched, sick of everyone - his parents, Plutarch, hell, even Katniss - questioning the validity of their relationship.   _What would it take to prove them that he was for real?  That he was only doing what he could to manipulate things to their advantage, to make sure that Katniss was safe?  That her family was safe?_  

“Now, now, Peeta, I don’t mean to imply anything.  All I am saying is to keep an eye on it.  If Rebels have concerns, then Snow would have concerns.  That is all.  Now,” Plutarch coughed lightly, shuffled papers on his desk.  “Let’s talk about a live broadcast I’d like to organise for sometime within the next week.  We’ll have some logistics to determine…..”

Peeta listened with half an ear as Plutarch relayed things he knew Katniss wouldn’t be happy to hear. 

********

Katniss pushed the errant pea around her plate, half-heartedly listening to Prim and Peeta as they talked.  She wasn’t even sure what the conversation was about - she hadn’t been able to keep her thoughts straight since Peeta had arrived back at her home for dinner and told her of Plutarch’s plan for a live interview - but she tried to look as if she was interested. 

She was fairly certain she was failing miserably.

Peeta had spent his first full day in Twelve with his camera around his neck, walking around town, around the Seam. He’d encouraged her to come with him, to show him the places she hadn’t taken him to during his first visit, but she couldn’t.  The glances she’d received at the train station - the ones that _judged_ her - had left her with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach.  It was one thing for townies to judge her for being from the Seam.  It was another entirely to judge her, and the feelings that were growing inside of her for Peeta.  So she’d declined, let Prim take him to Twelves own bakery, past the street lined with merchant shops, out to the small woods that separated Victors Village and the Mayor’s house.  Instead, she’d holed up in her room, drapes shut, fire crackling in the hearth.  She’d slept, then dreamt, then fought her way out of stabbing Marvel in the eye with an arrow. 

He’d wandered back into the Village with Prim in the late afternoon, and Mrs Everdeen had insisted he stay for dinner; Peeta had happily accepted.  Now here he was, in the middle of her house where it all began a month ago, sliding his foot and calf against her own under the table, his smile bright and sincere towards her.

“Well, we saw photos of you and Katniss dancing in the Capitol,” Prim was saying, breaking through Katniss’ reverie, “And you both looked so happy.” 

“I must say the kiss surprised me, though,” Mrs Everdeen commented drily.  “I know my daughter is a Victor, Mr Mellark, but she’s a little too young for a boyfriend if you ask me.”

 _Young enough to kill, but not young enough to date._  

“My apologies, Mrs Everdeen,” Peeta said smoothly.  “I didn’t mean to offend you, I simply got...carried away.  Of course, I wouldn’t do anything that you wouldn’t approve of.”

“I don’t suppose you would, but-” 

“Mom,” Katniss interrupted, not looking up from her plate.   _This_ is what they were talking about?  Her having a _boyfriend_? “Please leave it alone.”

“But Katniss-” 

“No.”  Silence fell around the table, awkward and uncomfortable.  Until Prim, in the most chipper voice Katniss had ever heard, relayed her attempts to milk Lady the day before, and soon had chuckles echoing through the room.  Katniss breathed a sigh of relief.  As much as she appreciated her mother standing up for her, attempting to play the parental role she’d forgone for so long, it wouldn’t matter this time.  There were more serious things to worry about in the world than whether a 17 year old was old enough to date.  Her mother would find that out soon enough.

She pushed her chair back, brushing her braid back off her shoulder.  “I’m going to go for a walk,” she announced. 

“But it’s dark outside, Katniss,” Mrs Everdeen protested.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve found my way around darker-” 

“I’ll go with her, Mrs Everdeen,” Peeta offered with a smile.  

She glanced between the two of them warily before agreeing reluctantly.  “Alright then.  But don’t stay out too late, please.  There’s so many more Peacekeepers doing the rounds now, Katniss, you know that.” Katniss felt Peeta glance at her curiously, but she ignored it, choosing instead to walk through to the mudroom and yanking on her boots.  She didn’t speak to him, waited for him to slip his own boots on, winding a wide grey scarf around her neck as he did so. 

Stepping outside, she waited until they were on the cleared path that bisected the two rows of houses that made up the Village before speaking.  “She’s right.  Peacekeeper numbers increased two days ago.  Dozens of them arrived. We have a new Head Peacekeeper too.” She watched his face pale, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Dammit, this is why the contact in Two hasn’t been able to get anything through to us,” he hissed softly.  “They’ve probably increased monitoring there too, if they were sending out more troops to here. Why didn’t Haymitch get word to us when he saw them arrive?”

“Because he either didn’t notice, he was drunk, or because he figured you’d be here today,” Katniss shrugged her shoulders, lifted her hands in supplication.  “I don’t know, Peeta.  I’m out of the loop.  I’m not told anything, it seems. I mean, we didn’t hear from you-” 

“There was nothing to tell,” Peeta interrupted.  “If there had been, we would have passed it along.  As it is, we think security has been upgraded around here while you and Haymitch were away, so it’s probably a good thing there was nothing to tell.  You’re going to have to find out from your Mother if they had anyone around the village doing work before you got back.” He stopped, looked around the darkened street around them, at the lights that glowed like a beacon from the Capitol house. He threaded his fingers through hers, tugged her towards the house.  “C’mon.  Let’s go to the house; it’s likely to be the safest place we can talk at the moment.”

“What?” Katniss blurted.  “The _Capitol_ house is the best place for us to talk?”  He nodded, but didn’t say anything, and she didn’t have any choice but to follow him.  His hand was warm around hers, his fingertips resting against her knuckles like a balm.  They stepped onto the porch, and she watched as he turned the key in the lock, a red light below the doorknob switching to green.  He slipped his left hand into his pocket before unlacing their fingers and wrapping his right arm around her waist, pulling her close, his lips resting against her ear.  

“In fifteen minutes the feed from the house to the Capitol will be doctored. Until then, we have to play it straight, ok?”  She nodded slightly, confused but smart enough not to argue, and he pulled away with a grin. “So glad we snuck away from your Mom,” he said loudly with a wink as they stepped over the threshold.  He closed the door behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist.  If she started at his touch, she tried not to make it obvious.  Here she was, with his hands on her, his lips close enough to touch, and it was all for show.

 _You know you signed up for this, Katniss._  

“Me-me too,” she stumbled over her words.  “I’ve missed you.”  Peeta smiled, his blue eyes brightening.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said quietly, and his words held a ring of truth his last sentence hadn’t.  She slid her own arms around his waist, braced as he leant in to press a kiss against her lips. It was soft, gentle, and he ran a hand down the length of her braid, twisting his fingers in the wavy strands at the end. She pressed her hands into his back, inadvertently pulling him closer to her.  Time seemed irrelevant as his mouth moved against hers, as his tongue slipped past her lips to tangle with her tongue.   

But then reality seeped in, and Katniss pulled her mouth away, resting her head on his shoulder instead.  She didn’t want to kiss him if _they_ were watching.  She refused to give them something if she didn’t have to.  So they simply stood there, wrapped in each other, and she could feel his heart beating steadily against her ear.

A sudden vibration in Peeta’s pocket buzzed against her thigh, and she jumped back in surprise. He smiled at her sheepishly, digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a small, silver rectangle with a black button on top.  He pressed it, before dropping it back into his pocket again, then rested his forehead against hers.  “The feed the Capitol is seeing of inside here has been replaced by alternative footage.  If they’re watching, they can’t see what we’re doing or hear what we’re saying anymore. _That’s_ why it’s the safest place to talk.” He tugged on her hand, dragged her into the kitchen where he hugged her fiercely, her face squashing into the space between his shoulder and jaw.  “I’m sorry for all the cloak and daggers stuff.  But we need to speak, and while outside and your house may be fine - I’ll feel better in here where it can be controlled.” 

“Controlled?  Alternative footage?  But….won’t they see that we suddenly disappeared?”  She didn’t understand; this was more high tech than she’d expected.

Peeta shook his head, squeezing her once more before turning to place a silver pot onto the stovetop, flicking on the gas.  He reached up into a cupboard for a small purple container, taking two mugs from the cupboard beside it.  “No, they’ll be using holograms.” 

“ _Holograms_?” Katniss exclaimed incredulously.

“Yup.”  Opening the fridge, he pulled out a bottle of milk, pouring it into the silver pot.  He began to stir it slowly, adding in spoonfuls of powdered chocolate from the purple container.  “They’ve been using holograms in the Capitol for years.” _Oh, she knew.  She’d seen the games, been in the games._ “Someone involved in the rebellion helped with an upgrade to the hologram technology about a year ago.  He can do everything they can.  As long as they have footage of you in what you’re wearing - which we gave them on the porch, and in the lounge - and have record of your voice, they can create any scene they want to.” 

“ _Any_ scene they want to?” Katniss asked warily, images of her in compromising positions flitting through her mind.  Peeta turned to face her, and his eyes widened comically.

“No, not that!” he protested.  She could see the flush on his cheeks, and she was surprised - he’d always seemed as cool as a cucumber. “They’ll have us talking about nothing, irrelevant things.  I use it when I use the comm to speak with my contacts in the rebellion.  I try not to use it for any longer than about half an hour or so though.” 

“And...and how do they know when to do it?  With that?” she tipped her head towards his pocket, and the silver rectangle.

He nodded.  “Once I get into the vicinity of the house and I press it, it sends a signal back to the rebel quarters.  From there, it’s the 15 minutes, like I said. When I want them to switch it off, I press it again.  It’s 5 minutes from there before it switches off again.”  She watched as he dipped a long spoon into the mixture in the pot, tasted it, before grabbing a small black jar from the counter, shaking it over the gently bubbling liquid. 

“I’m….confused.”

“It doesn’t matter, Katniss.  All it means is that for the next 20 minutes or so, we can speak freely.”  He turned off the gas, poured the steaming liquid into the two mugs and placed them on the kitchen table.  Curling his hand around hers, he pulled her into one of the hard backed seats, sinking down into the one beside her.  She listened patiently as he told her of the upgraded surveillance equipment, of how the Capitol could hear everything, see everything, everywhere they had cameras.  He warned her that Haymitch needed to be told, how Gale couldn’t go into the woods any more.  She felt her heart pitch at the knowledge that she had to stop Gale from hunting to provide - he never accepted any of the food she would offer him, and with three growing boys in their family, the Capitol food parcels the Hawthornes received never went far. 

Katniss wrapped her hands around the mug in front of her, lifting it to her lips and sipping at the creamy chocolate. "So what you're saying is that the Capitol is watching us even more closely now."

Peeta nodded. "Well, watching _you_ , Katniss.  You need to be careful with what you say, what you do, where you go. You all do." 

She swallowed heavily, thinking of her conversation with Gale in the woods. Would they have heard? Is that why more Peacekeepers had arrived?  "How...how far into the woods do the cameras extend?"

Peeta shrugged, sipped at his drink. "Well, when I was checking out town today, I managed to spot a couple of the newly upgraded cameras. They're high tech, new. If they've used the same ones district-wide, I'd say about 100 metres." 

She let out a sigh of relief - the lake was at least a mile away from the fenceline. But it still didn't change the fact that she needed to tell Gale not to go in there anymore. "I'll need to see Gale soon, tell him not to go in. He'll hate me for it."

"It's for his own good," Peeta assured her. She watched as he traced the rim of his mug with his finger.  "Did you, uh, tell him about us?" 

Katniss pursed her lips. "More he told _me_. He wasn't very happy with me. We fought." She coughed slightly. "I, uh, had to tell him. About _us_.  About the...." she trailed off as she watched Peeta's jaw flex, then harden, then soften again, all in a matter of seconds.

"What did he say?" He asked tightly. 

"He, er, wants in on the rebellion."

"Of course he does," Peeta sighed. "I can't guarantee anything, Katniss. I don't have that kind of authority." 

"I know. But....just think about it. Please." He nodded, then picked up his mug, draining it of the last of the drink. He glanced at his watch. "We have about 5 minutes before I want them to switch the feed back. Is there anything else you want me to tell you right now?"

She mulled it over in her head, already full to the brim of questions and comments and worries. She was already concerned she'd signed up for more than she'd bargained for. "No," Katniss told him quietly. "Maybe tomorrow." 

"Ok," he told her simply, then reached into his pocket, pressed the button on the silver device. He cleared his throat, reached across her to grab her mug, smiled at her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Then she realised there was one thing she wanted, needed, more than anything right now. Katniss reached out a hand, resting it on his forearm and waited for him to lock eyes with her. "Will you...will you kiss me, Peeta? While no one is watching?"  She watched as his eyes darkened, as his hand reached up to cup her chin.

He eagerly obliged.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Hope you're all having a wonderful holiday season so far!
> 
> Thanks for reading, your kudos and comments make my day :)


	7. Chapter 7

**_The eve of the 72nd Hunger Games_ **

_It wasn't unusual for mentors to end up in this bar the night before a Games. Long after their tributes had gone to bed, they were drawn out into the streets, to 'celebrate' with the citizens, to manipulate sponsors, to drink and be merry._

_As merry as any of them could be._

_He'd spent enough time with mentors over the last two years to know the usual haunts, the popular places to gather. He'd needed to see Finnick, and knew this was the likely place for him to be. But so far, the golden man hadn't shown._

_It wasn't official, their meeting. But it wouldn't be out of sorts for them to meet up, to enjoy a drink. Many in this part of town knew he was a photographer, knew he was an up and comer in the Capitol. So while he wasn't a Victor, and he wasn't part of the Capitol elite, they didn't question his attendance._

_Someone with a face as pretty as Peeta Mellark’s rarely got questioned in places like this. He got propositioned more than anything._

_Lifting his almost empty glass to his lips, he studied the projection at the end of the room, the one that maintained the odds for the Games ahead. Finnick should be happy, he mused, his male Tribute had the best odds by far. As usual, the outlying districts had no chance. He often wondered how those who lived in the agricultural plains of Eleven, the coal mining land of Twelve, ever maintained a sense of hope._

_In his few interactions with Haymitch Abernathy, only living Victor and Mentor in Twelve, he couldn't imagine those Tributes would ever think a day beyond day 1._

_Peeta breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Finnick swagger through the doors, a self-assured smile on his face. He winked at a blue skinned woman who called out to him, shook hands with a man with a magenta mohawk, before he spotted Peeta at the table in the corner. With a slight tip of his head, he headed for the bar, ordered a drink, then made his way through the crowd to Peeta._

_"Didn't expect to see you in these parts tonight," Finnick grinned, sinking into the chair opposite._

_"Hottest place in town," Peeta replied, indicating to the raucous crowd that were gathering around the screen, discussing odds. "Plus I wanted to catch up with you."_

_"Yeah? What about?"_

_Peeta cleared his throat. "I wanted to check on Annie. She didn't seem the best at the Reaping. A few people who saw the footage in the production team questioned her health, and I know for certain they're more in Snow's pocket than anyone else's."_

_Finnick's lips firmed, and he tipped his head back, taking a long swallow of his drink. He angled his head slightly towards the bar. "She's-"_

_"What the hell is that?" Peeta interrupted sharply.  He couldn't tear his gaze away from the three deep grooves that looked like fingernail tracks that trailed from the edge of Finnick's jaw to his collar._

_The most flustered Peeta had ever seen him, Finnick flipped up the collar of his shirt, averting his gaze. "Nothing."_

_"What do you mean, nothing?" Peeta demanded harshly.  "Are you cheating on Annie?"_

_"No!" Finnick's head whipped around indignantly.  Then his shoulders slumped, and Peeta couldn't reconcile the despondent man in front of him with the one who had walked in not 15 minutes before. "At least....at least not technically."_

_Peeta's eyes narrowed. "Finnick, we're friends, right?"_

_Finnick raised his head, his sea-green eyes full of pain. "Yeah."_

_"Then what the hell is going on? What does 'not technically' mean?"_

_With a quick glance over his shoulder, Finnick drew his chair closer. "Promise you won't judge me, Peeta, for what I'm about to tell you," he began, his voice laced with guilt._

_"I promise," Peeta replied._

_10 minutes later, he wished he'd never asked the question._

********

Peeta's eyes flickered open, the early morning sun streaming through the gap in the drapes. It was weak, watery, the dawn rays fighting hard to break through the late winter clouds hanging low overhead.

He rubbed the palm of his hand across his chest, his dream lingering around him like tendrils of smoke.  It wasn't often he had dreams with such perfect clarity, and with almost complete accuracy. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Finnick like it had happened yesterday, though it didn't surprise him that it had snuck up on him at a time like this. The weight of knowing precisely what he was hoping to avoid happening to Katniss made it something he thought of all too often.

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he cracked his back, stretched his arms above his head. He had no plans today, other than to spend time with Katniss before the Capitol came calling. He knew they couldn't go beyond the fence, into 'her' woods, but maybe he could convince her to walk through the woodlands between the Village and the Mayor's house, where they could have some semblance of privacy.

His hands ached to hold her.

Reaching over to the plush, high-backed chair situated near the bed, he slipped the robe on that he'd placed there the night before, leaving it unbelted as he padded downstairs. He'd have breakfast and then-

The light on his comm was blinking. His official one.

_His President Snow sanctioned one._

With a barely disguised sigh, he picked it up from the living room side board, slumping onto the sofa. He entered his password, allowing the holo to come to life. President Snow appeared in 3D, at his desk as usual, fingers laced together atop the woodwork.

"Good morning, Mr Mellark," he began. "I trust your travel was smooth and uneventful. I must commend you on your....arrival. It was a suitably touching reunion between yourself and Miss Everdeen, one that has gone down very well in the Capitol. As a result, I've spoken with your current employer - Cressida - who had some recommendations, and after consultation with my closest advisors, we've decided to conduct a live interview of the two of you." He paused, sipped at the delicate china cup that rested by his elbow. "Caesar Flickerman will be travelling to Twelve to do the honours. This will be Caesar's first visit to an outlying district - I request that you ensure he is treated well for the day he is there."

 _Caesar was travelling outside the Capitol?_ Peeta was shocked. The enigmatic showman hadn't gone any further than District 4, and hadn't ventured outside of the Capitol since Finnick's win. _This was big. Bigger than he thought_.

President Snow chuckled, though there was nothing jovial or friendly about it. "Now, I know what you must be thinking. Caesar, travelling? I assure you, it is nothing but the best to ensure our _plan_ goes to order. The interview is scheduled for next Wednesday.   He will arrive in the afternoon, the interview will be conducted from precisely 7pm-8pm, and he will then return to the Capitol immediately afterwards. I trust you will make sure it is suitably...inspiring."

He paused again, brushing his fingers across the rose pinned to his lapel. "Please confirm via comm once you have received this message. Good day, Mr Mellark."

The hologram closed down, and Peeta quickly typed in his receipt of the message, confirming the details, and his looking forward to Caesar's arrival.

Tossing the comm back onto the table, he strode into the kitchen, flinging open the door to the pantry and yanking out items at random. He was stressed now, and there was only one way he could relieve the tension that had set in his shoulders.

_Well, two, he supposed, but the other was currently tucked away in her home across the way._

So instead, he baked.

********

He ended up with three loaves, full of nuts and fruit and grain that made the bread dense and heavy and fragrant.  It was his favourite – the only one Nolan Mellarkinsisted must always be mixed and kneaded by hand – and he’d baked it many times in the last few years when his mind needed distracting, when he needed to focus on more than just the almost double life he lived.  But three loaves were far more than he would need, so he packaged two of them up, dropped them in a small basket he retrieved from a cupboard, wrote an accompanying note. His plans for the day had changed; following Snow’s comm, an urgent meeting notification had come through from Plutarch.

Spending time with Katniss would, unfortunately, have to wait.

********

"Where's the boy?"

Katniss glanced towards Haymitch, slumped over his kitchen table, as she walked in his back door. It was a mess - per usual - and she wished for once he'd decide not to live in squalor, to at least have a damned shower. At this stage she'd have to coax him into one - without Effie to poke and prod and badger.

“The boy?” She queried.

“The photographer.”

"He had stuff to do," she said simply. She held up a loaf of bread. "But he baked this this morning, dropped it off at our front door.  Interested?"

"Baked himself, huh? Fancy that," he shrugged. "I suppose so. Hand it over."

Katniss shook her head. "If you want it, you're gonna have to help me chop some wood outside first. It's like a damned icebox in here, Haymitch, and your woodpile is non-existent." She gestured towards the empty wooden box that should have been filled.

"Don't care," he muttered.

"I do." She yanked on his arm, pulled him to his feet. Like a parent to a child, she grabbed a jacket off the peg on the back door, threw it at him, then picked up the wood box. "Come on."

With a grumble he followed her outside, half-heartedly took the axe she handed him. They moved to the back of his yard, and she waited until he'd split the first log before speaking. "I need to talk to Gale, warn him about not going into the woods anymore. It's a bad idea."

Haymitch glanced at her, squinted.  "Really, sweetheart? Whatever gave you that notion?"

She glared at him, picked up the two pieces of wood, dropping them in the box.  “Haha.  There’s a reason I pulled you out here.  Peeta told me they’ve increased security around here, upgraded the cameras.  Vision _and_ sound.  In our houses, around the Village, in Town, along the fenceline.  Which means the woods.”

“Not quite.” The axe came down again, small slivers of wood flying through the air.  "Confirmation came through this morning. The kid did a sweep of the Village, our houses, the Seam borders and Town; Baldy did one of the station. Data comes back as the station, Seam border and Town as having upgraded surveillance, Victors Village remains untouched."

"What? What does that mean?"

"It means, sweetheart," he swiped at a thick wedge of wood that had landed on his boot, "that they haven't upgraded us yet. They can see us, but still can't hear us."

Katniss looked at him in confusion.  "I don't get it.  Wouldn't we be the first people they want to listen in on?"

"Sure," he agreed.  "And they will, I guarantee it.  It’s harder to do work in the Village – they need to jump through a lot of hoops to make upgrades to Victors homes.  But who’s arrived this week, sweetheart?  Who does Snow think he has in his pocket?”

“Peeta,” she murmured, the wheels turning in her head.

“Bingo.  Snow figures he’ll be able to keep an eye on you until Two can get the upgrade for the Village finalised.”

Katniss nodded – it made sense. "When did....when did Peeta find the time to do all that scanning  anyway?"

"He been on any walks around town? Been to your house?" She murmured her agreement.  "Yeah, he dropped past mine yesterday for 5 minutes. That's all the time he would have needed. The rebel technology is a damned wonder."

Katniss nibbled on her thumbnail, watched Haymitch heave the axe again. "Peeta did this hologram stuff last night, so the Capitol couldn't hear us while we were talking. Are you telling me he didn't really need to do that?"

Haymitch shook his head. "The Capitol house is another story, it's monitored with the newest shit out there. Not because they're suspicious of _their_ citizens - it's so if anything....unsavoury happens, they have all the evidence they need. I know for a fact visiting Capitol diplomats in other Districts have been killed in their beds over the years by overzealous rebels. Last night he wouldn't have known where it was safe to talk yet, so the kid was doing the right thing, going where he knew could control it."

"We still need to be careful everywhere though."

“Yeah yeah, no shit,” Haymitch agreed, panting slightly with the exertion he wasn’t used to. He worked in relative silence, Katniss moving around him to pick up the split logs that fell to the ground.  “Look, just do me a favour….don’t go back to the Seam in the middle of the night to tell him.”

“What?”

He rested the head of the axe on the ground, leaned on it.  “The Seam kid, when you go and warn him off the woods.  If you sneak out of here in the middle of the night, and head on over to the Seam, they’ll know.  Just hold off.  He works in the mines, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then he gets Sunday off.  Get up at the butt-crack of dawn then if you need to, go and tell him before he heads out.  But, geez girl, don’t give the Capitol any more ammunition than they need by sneaking through his bedroom window.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she scowled, then bit her lip.  “But Snow already warned me about spending time with Gale.”

“Then there you go.” He bent over, picked up the last few split logs, dumped them in the box by her feet. “Just be careful, Sweetheart.  Don’t need to see you get hurt now, after getting through what you have already.”  He picked up the box, began stalking back to the house.

“Wait!” she called, and he turned to her, eyebrow raised.  She clenched her hands together nervously.  “Does it….does it get any easier?”  She didn’t have to say any more – he knew what she was talking about.

“It hasn’t for me,” he told her bluntly.  “Why do you think I never talk about anything?”

She grimaced.  “That’s why you didn’t tell me about the rebellion.”

Haymitch nodded.  “I tell you about that, you ask me questions.  I suppose you know now, though.”

Katniss glanced away guiltily.  “Effie gave me your games.”

“Problem solved.  I think that gives you my reasons.”

“But how long for?” she demanded.  “Were you involved before my games?”

“Before Finnick Odair’s games, Sweetheart.”  He sighed, and the box dropped slightly as he loosened his grip.  “Don’t take it personally.  If you’re involved in the rebellion, you’re opening yourself up to punishment, death even.  Did I want to bring that to you almost immediately after you’d fought for your life?  No.  Things happen when they’re meant to.  And you weren’t meant to know until now.”

“Would you have told me if Peeta hadn’t?”  Katniss asked.

“Eventually,” he shrugged.  “I’m just looking out for you.  That’s all you gotta remember.  Doing my job, one way or another.”  He walked into the house, glanced over his shoulder once more.  “I’m gonna eat that bread.  You coming?”

********

As Peeta had promised in his note, he was on the Everdeen’s front porch by 12.30.  He was exhausted already - his mind full of times and schedules and maintaining the balance between Snow's and Plutarch's directives - but he wasn't going to let it deter him.

Katniss opened the door, calling out behind her to her mother, and he smiled as he saw she was in her father’s jacket.  He was certain that it would never matter how many jackets, coats or blazers Cinna would give her – this would always, _always_ trump the others.

"Hey. Sorry about this morning," he greeted.

"It's ok," Katniss replied, pulling a wide knitted scarf from the coat rack. "I tried to help Prim with homework, then went to see Haymitch, which was a barrel of laughs."

"He like the bread?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sopped it up with a little liquor, so yeah." Closing the door behind her, she wound the scarf around her neck, shoved her hands in her pockets. "You wanted to go for a walk?"

"Yeah," he replied, stepping off the porch, and gesturing her to follow. "Thought we could walk through the small woods to the mayor's house, visit your friend."

"Madge? I suppose we could." They began walking down the path, happy to be silent in the others company. Katniss didn't think much to talking anyway, and Peeta felt he'd done nothing _but_ all morning. He allowed her to take the lead, followed her through a winding trail of towering trees still covered in snow.

It was quiet here, a different type of quiet to the Village. There, it still felt isolated, desolate. Here, in the small woods, there was a hint of promise of life, in the occasional sprig of a green leaf, a red-breasted bird high in a tree, the shimmer of sunlight through branches.

Peeta reached out, took Katniss' hand, lacing his fingers through hers. She shot him a quick smile, but kept her eyes forward on the path. He was too busy looking at her, watching the way she seemed to become more and more relaxed the further she ventured into the trees, otherwise he would have seen the fanciful, open rotunda in front of them before he all but stumbled into it. His mouth gaped.

"Did you know this was here?" Peeta asked, and Katniss nodded, stepping inside. It was no bigger than an elevator, really, a thin bench circling the inside. The black wrought iron was curved and twisted, though Peeta couldn't place what the pattern was supposed to be of. He studied it carefully.

"Don't even try to decipher it," she told him, dropping his hand and slumping onto the bench. "Madge and I have tried figuring it out for the last 6 months."

"You come here often?" He asked, sitting down beside her.

"Sometimes, when we both want to get out of our houses.  I'm not sure if anyone else knows of it, or how long it’s been here. We found it one day when we thought we were taking a shortcut from her place to mine."

"Prim didn't bring me here when she was showing me around," he mused, circling his fingers around the cold railing.

Katniss blushed. "I asked her not to." She glanced down, fingers tugging on the end of the scarf.  "So, uh, Haymitch told me about the Village security not being upgraded yet. And when I asked my mom, she confirmed she hadn't seen anyone do work specifically in the Village at all."

"Yeah, it's good news,” Peeta nodded. “One less thing for us to worry about this week. Sorry I might have scared you last night with all the surveillance talk. But my contact has a flair for the dramatics, and I guess he’d rather us always be safe than sorry.”

"That's ok.”  She paused. "So I need to ask a favour."

"Shoot."

"Gale. I need to tell him about not going into the woods, but because he's in the mines most of the week, I can only see him on Sunday. I’m hoping to intercept him at the Meadow."

"Yeah I knew you had to tell him...so what can I do?"

"I'm certain they'll be keeping an eye on the Hawthornes. If that's the case, you need to come with me, at least show us _both_ going to the Seam, not just me."

"Ok."

Katniss frowned at him. "That's it? Just 'ok'?"

Peeta shrugged. "It makes sense."

"Al-alright then," she muttered. "We'd have to head over at about 5.30. AM."

"Urgh," he groaned, then he shook his head.  "No, no, I can do this. I used to get up crazy early as a kid, I can do it again."

She reached over, twisted her fingers through his. "Thanks." She yawned - _he wondered if her nightmares were just as bad here, whether they kept her up at night as well like they did on the train_ \- then blushed, her fingers clenching in embarrassment.  "Sorry. So what was so important this morning?"

"Ahhhh," Peeta sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, you know about the surveillance already. But otherwise, things have gotten a little bigger than we expected. You know how I mentioned the live interview?” Katniss nodded.  “My contacts discussed it with Snow, and he took it one step further. It's next Wednesday....and Caesar is conducting it."

Katniss' jaw dropped. "Caesar is coming here?"

He nodded. "Snow told me only the best would do to ensure his plan went to...well...plan. I'm sorry, Katniss. This has gotten even bigger than we expected.”

Peeta watched as her mouth set firm, as her jaw clenched. "No, no, that's ok," she finally said. "All for a purpose, right?"

"Right," he echoed. "Though he's probably going to ask us lots of questions. About ourselves, about each other."

"What am I meant to say to that?" Katniss shrugged. "We're still getting to know each other."

"You're right," he mused. "Maybe we should ask each other questions now, find out stuff so that we're prepared. Like....like what's your favourite colour?"

"That's a stupid question," Katniss retorted.

"No it's not," Peeta argued.  “It might sound simple, but it makes sense, don’t you think?  To know these things?”

Katniss shrugged, leant back on the metal bench so her head rested against the railing.  “It’s just a colour, Peeta.”

“But it’s _your_ favourite colour,” he countered.

“And these are the important questions, huh?”

“Whatever it takes to get to know you better.”  He saw her face soften, and he squeezed her fingers lightly.

“Ok, ok, fine.  Green,” she said quietly, looking around.  “Like the green of the leaves here, and in the outer woods.  It reminds me of home, wherever I am.” She turned to him, smirked.  “What about you?”

“Orange,” he said immediately.

Katniss laughed.  “Like Effie’s hair on the tour?”

“No,” he chuckled.  “More like….the soft orange of a sunset.  There’s just so much falseness, so much mockery in the Capitol, that sometimes the sun rising and the sun setting is the only thing that feels _real_.”

“And you like things to be real,” Katniss surmised.

“I like know that there’s more to life than body tattoos and sharpened teeth.”

He watched as she studied him intently, her lips firming.  “Then you using contacts to colour your eyes make no sense to me, Peeta.  Why do you feed into it?”

Peeta smiled, but it was almost sad.  “I don’t, Katniss, and I wish you’d stop doubting me on that.”  He raised his hand to his eye and with his thumb and forefinger, stretched the skin around his eye.  “Look carefully, Katniss.  Do you see anything in my eye? Any lens, any cover, that could indicate they’re fake?”

She leant in closer, eyes narrowed.  It was almost fascinating the way her eyes flickered, the way her brows shifted, the way her mouth couldn’t decide whether to purse or gape.  “They’re…they’re real,” she finally murmured.

“100%.  I got them from my father, though he long ago exchanged his for purple.”

“Why would you do that?  It’s the most….beautiful blue I’ve ever seen.” She said the words quietly, almost as if she was afraid he’d hear her.

“Thank you.”

They fell silent for a moment, though he smiled to himself as her thumb brushed idly against the back of his hand.  Finally Katniss cleared her throat.  “Will you tell me about your family, Peeta?  Will you tell me about your life?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

He thought carefully for a moment, wondering where a safe starting point could be.  He didn’t want to start with his mother.  If he had his way, he’d never have to explain to Katniss about her.  So instead, he started the easy way.

“The bread I gave you this morning, I learned to bake from my father…..”

********

_The bow felt heavy in her hands.  It wasn’t as though it was heavy, but the way her arm hung limply at her side, the way the blood dripped down her skin, through the clenched fist, made it feel as though it weighed a hundred pounds. It didn’t help that her feet felt like lead, that her entire body ached and her throat was parched._

_Katniss stepped over the tree branch, careful not to touch the dried-out husk of the nest that lay abandoned on the ground.  That day, high up in the tree, watching as the Careers taunted her from the ground, felt like years ago._

_It was probably only days._

_“Come on, Rue,” she whispered.  “They shouldn’t be around here anymore.  And Glimmer is gone.”_

_Rue dropped nimbly to the ground, from where she’d been keeping a lookout.  “I couldn’t see anyone,” she confirmed. “But the Cornucopia is definitely that way.” She pointed to their left, and Katniss nodded._

_"You're good with the plan?" She asked quietly._

_"Yep. You ok with the signal?"  Katniss whistled, the four note tune that copied Rue's, that the mockingjay's high up in the trees mimicked with little nudging. Rue grinned. "See you for supper."_

_"See you for supper," Katniss echoed, and turned her back on her young ally._

_In a flash of light, everything went to hell._

_The sky darkened, trees burst into flame. Fireballs shot through the air, the sparks skimming along her skin and scorching the flesh. The mockingjays that only a minute ago echoed a sweet note now called out with piercing shrieks, reverberating through the trees. Thunder boomed overhead, and she heard the crack of wood behind her._

_Whirling, she turned, expecting Rue.  It was._

_But not the Rue she remembered._

_Her skin was blue, her teeth sharpened into fangs. Her eyes were red. Or eye, she corrected in horror.  One of them was missing._

_Another branch cracked to her left, and she took a step back, glanced towards the sound.  It was Glimmer, face swollen beyond recognition, her beautiful blonde hair shorn, her arm barely connected to her shoulder, sinew and bone clear through her flesh._

_A chuckle to her right, and her heart leapt into her throat. Her hands were shaking, and the bow threatened to slip through her fingers. She stifled a sob, slowly turning her gaze to the new sound. She shouldn't have been surprised. She saw him the most, after all._

_Almost immediately the firebombs ceased, the mockingjays quieted, the thunder dwindled to a faint rumble. It was just her and Rue and Glimmer._

_And Cato._

_Except while the girls were ravaged, far more than they had during their games, Cato was perfect. Shining blonde hair, confident grin, swagger in his step. Almost as if he'd stepped off the chariot straight into the woods._

_He smirked at her. "You'll never be rid of us, you know," he said slyly. "You can do what you want, it doesn't matter. We'll always be here."_

_Cato stepped towards her, face close, his breath a combination of peppermints and candy. "I'll be in your head forever," he whispered, reaching down and wrenching the bow from her hands._

_Where the arrow came from, she didn't know. But suddenly it was trained on her, Cato pulling the string taut as he aimed._

_"Goodbye, bitch," he snarled, and the arrow pierced her chest._

Katniss' eyes flew open, her breath coming out in sharp bursts. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, her feet kicking against the constriction of the quilt that covered her. Her skin was damp with sweat, and her throat ached, though she didn't know if it was because she'd been screaming, or if it was a remnant of her dream. She gasped for air, though it was hard to gulp in quickly enough.

 _Cato was right_ , she thought, rolling onto her side and covering her mouth with a fisted hand, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. _I'll never be rid of them_. She wondered if she'd ever sleep properly again, if she'd ever stop dreaming about them.  And remembered the only time she hadn't was when Peeta had stayed....

Throwing the sweat-soaked sheets away from her body, she ran downstairs, through to the mudroom, jamming her feet in her boots. Even in her state, she was careful not to slam the door behind her, and then was flying across the snow slicked grass, ignoring the paths carefully cleared for them, her nightgown streaming behind her.

She slipped, fell to her knees, but she didn't care, just dragged herself back to her feet again. She stumbled again, and again, until finally she was on his porch, and pressing the doorbell with frantic insistence. It wasn't enough; soon she was pounding against the wood, until it finally swung open, and she tumbled into his arms.

"Katniss? What's going- Shit, you're freezing!" Peeta slammed the door behind her, then gathered her up, rubbing his hands up and down her arms briskly. "What's wrong? Is everything-"

"I keep seeing them," she whispered, interrupting him mid-sentence. "They're alive in my dreams, and they'll never leave me."

"Who-what-" and she could see when it dawned on him. He pulled her in closer, and she could feel her heart beating rapidly against his chest. "Oh, Kat, I'm so sorry," he said quietly.  "Do you want me to come back with you?" She shook her head forcefully against his chest. "Do you...do you want to come upstairs?"

Katniss nodded slowly, allowed him to lead her upstairs and into a room with a wide bed, a lamp on low light resting on the side table. He pulled down the thick, fluffy quilt, practically tucked her in, before heading toward the door.

"Peeta?" Her voice caught in her throat, fingers gripping the sheets.

He turned to look at her. "Yeah?"

"Where are you going?"

"I-" He opened his mouth to reply, but she didn't give him time to finish.

"Will you stay with me?"

He shoved his hands in the pockets of the robe he wore. "If you want me to."

"I want you to," she whispered.

Peeta nodded, unbelting the robe he wore and letting it drop to the floor before sliding in beside her. She didn't know what to make of the flush that crept across her cheeks at the sight of him only in a pair of long flannelette pants, but she ignored it as he pulled the quilt up to their chins.

He flipped off the light before turning to her, and she had to wait a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark so she could see him.

"You ok?" He whispered.

Katniss nodded, tentatively reaching out and grasping his hand. "I knew I could sleep with you here," she said quietly. She didn't even care if the Capitol could see her, hear her. They needed to know this. "My room has too many demons tonight."

"I'll stay with you whenever you want," He said firmly, raising her hand to his lips, pressing them against her palm.

She hated feeling so needy, so reliant. But Cato was still in her head, mocking her.  "Promise?"

"Always."

********

He held her hand as she drifted off, studied her eyelids as they fluttered during sleep. Everything inside him wanted to yell, scream, to call up President Snow and tell him exactly what he thought of him. No one - not Katniss, not Finnick, not _any_ of the Victor's deserved this. No one did. That's why what they were doing was so vitally important.

Peeta closed his eyes, wished for sleep.

It didn't come for hours.

********

Somehow, during the night, they'd twisted and turned until Peeta was curved around Katniss, her back pressed against him, their hands clasped and resting against her belly. His breath tickled the back of her neck, his forehead rested against the back of hers. For the first time since the train, Katniss felted rested, felt calm. Her second chance at sleep had been free of dreams, void of the images of Cato and Rue and Glimmer that had haunted her, that had caused her to run to Peeta in the middle of the night.

Opening her eyes, she looked around the room; it was still dark, the burgundy drapes closed tightly. They fluttered slightly - Peeta must have forgotten to close the window before drawing them - and the early morning breeze sneaking around the edges was brisk. She wanted to draw the covers up to her neck, was hesitant to move - beside Peeta she felt warm and comfortable and safe - but because it was Sunday she knew she had to get moving, had to get to Gale before he headed into the woods.

Slowly extracting herself from Peeta's arms, she moved over to the window, pulled the curtain apart slightly.

And was horrified to see the sun had already risen. Evidently hours before.

Whirling in horror, she glanced at the elaborate clock on the wall, noted it was past 8am.

"Shit!" She muttered, her voice rising. She stumbled over to Peeta, yanked on his arm frantically. "Peeta, Peeta, wake up."

"What? Huh?" His eyes flew open, his body bolting upright. "What's wrong?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth to his ear. "The woods," she murmured. "Sun is up." She leant back, dropped her arms to her sides.

His eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. Tossing back the blankets - Katniss couldn't help but blush again and avert her gaze at his bare chest - he practically jumped out of bed. "I can't believe I slept through my alarm! And of all days when you were going to show me the way the sun rises over the meadow!" He ran a hand through his hair, eyes searching hers in apology, the lie falling easily form his tongue. "Do you still want to go?"

"Uh...um...sure. I just...have to get clothes first."

"Oh," he muttered, and cringed. "Your mom..."

"I don't care about my mom," Katniss said bluntly. "It's not like we did anything wrong anyway. I'll be back in 15." She turned, headed for the door, didn't look back.

She trudged over snow that was beginning to melt, pathways that were still a little icy.  She was glad, even in her terror, she'd had at least the foresight to slip her boots on the night before, but her teeth chattered as the cold slipped through her nightgown, chilling her skin.

Bursting through the Everdeen's front door, she ran up the stairs, straight into her room, where she frantically yanked on a pair of oak brown corduroys, a thick, knitted sweater the colour of honey.  She pulled on her Dad's old hunting jacket, and was back out the door in less than ten, grateful she'd been able to avoid her mom, and the likely question of why she was out of the house in a nightgown.

Striding up to Peeta's front porch, she was pleased to see he was dressed and ready to go; camera around his neck, leather satchel carried cross body. "Good, you're ready," she announced. "We should, uh, get to the meadow in good time."

He nodded, threading his fingers through hers, and began heading towards the iron entryway to the village. The minute they were outside the gates, she groaned. "I can't believe this. He'll be long gone, he'll already be out there!"

"It's ok, Katniss," Peeta told her calmly. "I'm certain Gale knows what he's doing. We’ll go to their house, and if he's gone, we'll just wait with Hazelle until he comes back. Who knows - maybe with the extra security, the fence is on and he didn't go anyway."

"Maybe," Katniss murmured. It didn't stop the frustration she felt at herself. She had one thing, _one thing,_ to do today, and she'd failed already.

Their walk was a brisk one, and to save time, Katniss led them towards the centre of town, to cut straight through the middle. It was busy, as usual for a Sunday morning, full of town folk shopping for fresh produce and baked goods. The bakery was hopping; the Fullertons' florist bustling with middle aged women gossiping.

And then she heard it.

Like a whistle through the air, and a gasp, an echoed one that reverberated around the square. Around her, people stopped short, glanced warily over their shoulders. Then she heard it again, and again, and the more she heard it, the more it sounded like the way she had heard Sae pound at a cut of meat she'd sold her in the Hob.

Feet began moving, people hurried down the wide street in the direction of the noise, and Katniss tugged on Peeta’s hand, dread coursing through her. She didn't know what it was, but something told her it wasn't good.

Katniss heard a shout, a distinct thud, and broke into a run. Her feet carried her in the same direction as everyone else, until she reached the main square outside the Justice Building. A large crowd had gathered, and she pushed her way through, heart pounding a mile a minute. She broke through the last line, shoved Mr Cartwright aside.

In front of her were makeshift stocks, stood a whipping post that hadn't been there the day before. Nailed to the top of the post was a turkey, its wings and head drooping towards the ground.

And then she looked on in horror as a whip sailed through the air, cracked against the olive skin of Gale's back.

Gale, who was chained unconscious to the post. His back, a pulpy mess of flesh.

_She was too late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos, comments and, as always, for reading.
> 
> And also to my three support crew, who forever give me the encouragement I need to continue with this story.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings :)


	8. Chapter 8

_“STOP!”_

Katniss’ voice rang out in the square as she pushed her way through the crowd, hurling herself in front of Gale’s defenseless body without a second thought. She felt a hundred pairs of eyes trained on her, some in approval, some in horror, but it was the black eyes in the centre of the square, those belonging to the man who grasped the blood-slicked whip in his clenched fist, that locked with hers.  The shiver that danced down her spine was palpable.

But his eyes were nothing compared to the warning whistle of the whip as it sailed through the air.

She barely had a second to raise her arms in defense before it snapped across her hand, across her cheek, stinging in its viciousness.  Stars danced in front of her eyes, and they rolled back in her head as she stumbled to her knees, the mud soaking into her pants, through her fingers. She couldn’t feel her cheek, and her hand throbbed in pain, but it didn’t stop her from raising her head, glowering as best she could at the man.  She could already feel her left eye swelling shut.

“Move it, girl,” the man growled, flicking the whip against the mud at his feet.  “You don’t want me to mar the other side of that pretty face.”

With a groan, Katniss drew herself to her feet, planting herself in front of Gale.  “No.”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” The man’s jaw set, clenched, his fingers twitching against the handle of the whip.  “Or I’ll string you up beside him for dissent.”

"No," Katniss repeated as firmly as she could. "He's....he's family."

"I don't give a shit _what_ he is," came the heated reply. Now get the f-"

“Woah, woah, woah!” Peeta pushed through the crowd, running over to Katniss and wrapping an arm around her waist.  She sagged against him slightly, but refused to do anything but stare the man down.  Peeta raised a hand in supplication. “Sir, you don’t want to do this.”

“Oh no, I do,” the man snapped.  He gestured towards Gale’s prone body.  “He was trespassing on Capitol grounds, _poaching_ to top it off.  Punishment for both of those crimes is severe, and 50 lashes is only the start of it if I have my way.”

“50 lashes,” Katniss murmured.  _Oh god_.

“Then I’m sure you’ve delivered that punishment,” Peeta replied, and while Katniss couldn’t hear a tremor in his voice, she could feel it ripple through his stomach where he held her to him.

“Not nearly enough.  Now move away.” He took a step forward, ran a hand down the whip, splattering Gale’s blood across the ground, across his crisp white Peacekeeper uniform - across Katniss and Peeta’s faces.  “Unless you want your blood to mix with his.”

“What the hell is going on?” Haymitch came running through a gap in the crowd, pushing his lank, dark hair out of his eyes. One look at her face, and Katniss could see the shock and anger on his.  He whirled, faced the man.

“Who the hell are you and where’d you come from?  Do you have any idea what you’ve done?  Who she _is_?”

“I don’t care!” the man growled.  “My job is to clean up this wasteland of a district, with its complete and utter disregard for the Capitol.  This boy broke the rules, and now these two have as well.  Do you want to join them?”

“Do you?” Haymitch retorted, and Katniss could see the way he slightly shifted, so that she was completely blocked from harm.  “You’ve just cracked a whip across the face of _Katniss Everdeen_. Ring a bell?  Victor of the 74th Hunger Games?”  They watched as the man’s hand jerked, as recognition filled his face.  Then he snarled, shrugged.

“I don’t care who the hell she is.  She directly interfered with the delivery of Capitol-sanctioned punishment.”

Haymitch scoffed.  “And I don’t care the hell about _that_.  She has a _live interview_ scheduled this week that’s going to air across the country.  What do you think President Snow would say to this?  What do you think the country is going to think to see her face looking like that?”  He threw his arm out behind him, gestured to Katniss’ face.  She still couldn’t feel it, though she knew it was more likely the adrenaline coursing through her that was masking the pain; it was going to hurt like hell soon enough.  “And the boy beside her?  A Capitol citizen.  I don’t think _that_ would go down well, either.”

“A Capitol citizen?  Bullshit,” He snarled.  “Got blonde hair and blue eyes like half the people here.”

“I assure you,” Peeta spoke up.  “You could confirm it directly with President Snow, if you wished. _I_ could, seeing as I work for his office as official photographer."

The man glanced around him, as the crowd shifted nervously.  A young Peacekeeper - one Katniss recognised as one who frequented the Hob - spoke up.  “I do believe, Peacekeeper Thread, that 50 lashes is the correct punishment for a first offence here in District Twelve.  This should be sufficient for now.”

“Fine.  Then the additional ten I gave on top of that is an extra deterrent,” Thread snapped.  He glowered at Katniss, at Haymitch, at Peeta, before moving forward, his face inches from Haymitch’s. “Get your damned Victor out of my face, and take the pretty boy with you.  I don’t want any of you to ever interfere again, or a show like this won’t stop me.”  He stepped back, began winding the blood stained whip around his arm.  He raised his voice, so that its anger echoed around the square.  “All of you, go now!  I don’t want to see anyone in this square after 5 minutes!” He pointed at Gale.  “And that includes him!  Get that Seam trash out of here!”  With a final glare, he stalked away, a group of Peacekeepers breaking away from the crowd to follow him.

People scattered, and Katniss immediately turned to Gale, hands scrabbling at the ropes that bound him to the post.  He was so heavy, his unconscious body limp and unmoving.  She couldn’t look at his back, not that the way the stark lines cross-crossed, the way the skin had been lynched away, the way the blood pooled at the base of his spine, soaking the pants he wore.

“Katniss, move.” Haymitch’s firm voice came from behind her, and she watched as two other pairs of hands reached either side of her - one set smooth and pale, the other scarred and weathered and a similar shade to her own - and began loosening the knots.  She heard voices yelling out behind her, a desperate “ _Get him onto here_.”

Turning, she saw a group of men she recognised as Gale’s crew from the mines, carrying a long board, and she realised their intention.  She nodded, moving out of the way, allowing Haymitch and Peeta to gently raise Gale from the ground and lift him onto the board.  She clutched at Gale’s hand with her good one, and the blood that trailed down his arm slicked her hand; she didn’t care. 

_She’d had others blood on her hands before._

“Take him to my house,” she managed to murmur, through the pain that was starting to set in on her cheek.  “My mother.”

Haymitch nodded, grunted instructions to the men who now supported Gale on the board, slipped coin into the hand of one of the men to go and fetch Hazelle.  They hurried as they carried Gale, quicker than she expected, so that she had to almost trot to keep up. 

“What the hell happened?” she vaguely heard Haymitch demand.  “I just had some kid show up at my door, telling me to get to the square.”

“That was me,” Peeta told him.  “I found him in the crowd, sent him off to you.    I - wish I hadn’t.  If I hadn’t stopped, Katniss wouldn’t have-”

“Stop,” Katniss snapped, gritting her teeth in pain.  “He still would have hit me otherwise, and I don’t care.”

“Gale got caught with it going into the Hob.”  A guy Katniss recognised as Thom spoke up.  “He had the turkey; if he’d caught anything else this morning he’d already traded it.  It was some of the new Peacekeepers, ones I’d never seen around the Hob before.”  He took a deep breath, readjusted his grip on the board as they hurried across the slick road to the Village.  “They took him straight to Thread in the square, hung him up without a second thought.  Demanded to know what punishment we deliver here in Twelve.”  He winced.  “No punishment has been served around here for as long as anyone can remember.  But the only two options are whipping and death…..”

“Shit.”  Haymitch ran a hand through his hair.  “Who the hell is this Thread, anyway?”

“New Head Peacekeeper,” another piped up.  “Arrived last night.  No one’s seen Cray since.”

Katniss glanced at Haymitch, at Peeta.  Both had jaws that were clenched, eyes that burned. She felt Peeta’s hand slip into hers, squeeze.

“I didn’t know,” he mouthed.  She nodded, then looked away.  Right now, her only focus was the Village at the end of this street, and getting Gale to her mother.  She blocked out the rest of the conversation.  She didn’t need to hear any more.

********

Time passed in a blur.  Alice and Prim had sprung into action the minute they’d burst through the door, clearing the large butcher block table that dominated the kitchen, laying Gale across it.  He’d roused from consciousness at the edge of the Village, his groans and barely veiled screams of agony echoing along the empty street.  Their house had been filled with them as Prim and Alice had tended to his back, doing what they could to save the flesh, to clean the wounds, layering it in fresh snow coat to cool the heated cuts, to help stave off infection.  She’d screamed and ranted and raved until Haymitch had planted her ass in a chair and told her to calm down and let her family do their job.

People had crowded in their kitchen, and then dispersed.  Hazelle had flown in the door, her brow marred with lines and her hands wringing together, but Katniss hadn’t seen any tears.  Prim tore material into strips with her bare hands while barking orders, something that Katniss couldn’t reconcile with her sweet and placid sister. But she’d been thankful for the paste Prim had smeared on her hand, the handful of snow coat she’d laid on her cheek; it had numbed the pain, dulled the ache that throbbed along her cheekbone.  

Alice had mixed herbs and serums with a small mortar and pestle, carefully administering it to the welts crossing Gale’s back before Prim covered them with the torn material.  Peeta and Haymitch had murmured in the corner, glancing at Gale, at her, frantic hand gestures showing their edginess.  But she hadn’t shifted from Gale’s side during the entire time, and once again his hand was clenched in hers.  She was just thankful he’d passed out from the pain again, though she knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Katniss,” Peeta murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder.  She glanced up at him, blinked, watched the light from the fire in the kitchen hearth dance across his face.  “I heated some stew your mom had in the freezer.  You need to eat.”  She began to shake her head, but his fingers clenched tightly.  “Please.  You need to - you haven’t eaten all day.”

With a reluctant nod, she reached for the bowl he held in his other hand, placing it on the table, spooning it into her mouth half-heartedly.  It was only then she realised that the kitchen was quiet, that there was no one there.  “Where is everyone?”

“Your mom and Prim are in your living room with Haymitch.  They sent Hazelle home; she needed to be with the kids.  Haymitch promised we’d get her if there was any change.”

Katniss nodded, then dropped the spoon into the half eaten stew.  “I did this,” she whispered.  “They only came here because of me.  I should have warned him-”

“Stop,” Peeta ordered, hunkering down beside her.  “It isn’t your fault.  You couldn’t have seen this coming, you weren’t to know there would be a new Head.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Katniss muttered.  “This Thread guy isn’t the catalyst.  I am.  If-”

“There’s no point in ‘ifs’, Katniss,” Peeta interrupted.  He reached up, gripped her chin in his hand, turned her to face him.  Whatever he saw made his own eyes darken, for them to dull.  He dropped his head, faced her lap, and Katniss realised whatever he was saying, he didn’t want the old cameras still installed to pick up even the movements of his mouth.  “Don’t turn this on yourself.  If you want to blame anyone, blame Thread.  Blame Snow.  Blame the people who are really to blame.  But not yourself.  You’re trying to help bring about change, but not this.  This isn’t yours to feel guilt over.”

She pulled her face away, turned to gaze into the fire.  “I’m so angry.  So worried.  So _infuriated_.  How much longer are we going to have to keep living like this?  Worried that every day we have to decide between starving and being whipped?  Worried that we’ll be sent into an arena?”

“I hope not long, Katniss.  Not if any of us have anything to do with it,” he murmured.

She nodded, bit her lip, cleared her throat.  “I need to be alone for a little while.  Please.”  She could feel the hesitation radiating off of him, but saw Peeta nod out of the corner of her eye.  He rose, walked out, leaving her alone with Gale.

She needed to be alone.

********

Gale was awake, and shivering, his body wracked with tremors.  His skin was slick with sweat, and the strips of material that had been laid across his back to help keep the paste in place were soaked in blood.  He murmured nonsense, and every five minutes the air was punctuated by another inhuman sounding groan slipping from his throat.

“Mom, this is no good, it isn’t working,” Katniss said desperately.  “Your paste isn’t helping.”

Alice moved over from her spot in front of the fire, desperation on her own face.  “I’m sorry Katniss, it’s all we have.  Nothing we have can dull the pain any more than we have.”

“Then it isn’t good enough!” she screamed, and it only made Gale moan louder.  She fisted her hands in her hair, stamped her foot like she couldn’t remember doing since she was a small child.  “We need to do more!  More!”

“Hey, hey, hey!”  Haymitch stepped across the room, gripped her shoulders tightly.  “You need to calm down, sweetheart, your mom is doing all she can!”

“I don’t care!” she growled, shaking him off.  “We need to do more!”

“Like what, Katniss? What more can we do?” Haymitch demanded.

“I don’t know!  Anything, just _stop the pain_!” She fisted her hands, pressed them against her eyes.  She could hear Alice sigh, heard Gale’s moans as he tried in vain to mumble her name.  _She couldn’t do this, couldn’t watch him go where her father had gone, his father had gone-_

A sharp knock at the front door drew their attention, and Katniss visibly startled, looking towards the door in terror.  _It could be them, could be Thread coming to take Gale away, take her away..._

Haymitch headed down the hall, wariness evident in every step, and glanced through the vertical glass panel that ran beside the door.  “Shit, it’s the mayor’s kid.”

“Madge?”  Curiosity overwhelmed her anger, and she hurried to the door, flinging it open.  It _was_ Madge, shivering in a bright pink jacket, her hands clutching a small cardboard box, snow covering her hair, lingering on her eyelashes.  Sometime in the last few hours, while she’d done nothing but focus on Gale, it had started to snow.  Hard.  It packed the street, covered part of their porch and front stoop.  She could hardly see Haymitch’s house across the street.

“Here,” Madge forced the box into Katniss’s hands.  “This is my mothers, but she doesn’t need it as much as he does.  Take it.”

“What is it?”  Haymitch and Alice asked at the same time; Katniss turned her head to see her mother had now joined them, standing slightly behind her.  Alice leant forward, lifted the flimsy lid.

“Morphling,” she breathed.  “Oh Madge, we can’t-”

“You can,” Madge said emphatically.  “It’s Capitol grade - my father orders it especially for her.  She doesn’t need it.  Gale does.  Take it, put it to good use.”  She lifted onto her tiptoes, pressed her lips quickly to Katniss’ cheek.  “Look after him, please,” she muttered, then turned on her heel, disappearing into the swirling snow in the direction of their woods.  Katniss stared after her in disbelief, then down at the box in her hands.

“Will it help?” Katniss asked desperately.

“You know it will,” Haymitch grunted.  “What do you think they fed in your veins the minute they lifted you out of the arena?”

_Bliss.  Euphoria.  Her body light and empty, free of aches, of pain.  Everything looked perfect._

“Give it to him,” she demanded, thrusting the box into her mother’s hands.  “He needs to have it.”

“You’re right,” Alice said, fingers brushing the lid.  Abruptly, she turned, almost ran into the kitchen.  Katniss followed close behind, watched as her mother lifted a vial, expertly inserted a syringe into the clear liquid, and carefully slid it into the flesh of Gale’s back.

The effect was immediate.

The tenseness in his shoulders relaxed, his body fell limp.  The sigh he let loose was of relief, not of agony, and she could even see the corner of his lip turn up.  His eyes fluttered closed, and he was out.

“Thank goodness,” Alice murmured, but Katniss ignored her.  She slumped into the seat beside Gale again, gripped his hand.  She’d be here when he woke.

********

_“Fuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkk.”_

The groan was loud, drawn out and roused her from sleep, her head snapping up from the table.  She cricked her neck - it ached from where she’d rested it against the tabletop, and she regretted it as the movement caused pain to shoot across her cheekbone.  She reached up, gently fingered the skin that was still swollen, but at least she could see completely out of her eye now.  The snow coat worked for one lash.  But 60?  Not a chance.  She couldn’t be more thankful for Madge than she was right now.

Then she realised the groan hadn’t come from inside her head, but had come from Gale; Katniss was up and out of her seat, leaning down over him in time to see his eyes flutter open.

“Gale,” she breathed, reaching up and brushing sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.  “I’m so glad you’re awake.  Are you ok?”

He grunted, let out another moan as he shifted.  “Feels like I been whipped a million times,” he uttered.  His eyes were glazed, still filled with pain.  “What’d you guys give me?  I might think I’m floating.”

Katniss couldn’t help but laugh softly.  “Madge brought you Capitol morphling.”

“Madge, huh?” he murmured.  “Guess it paid to let her beat me at chess that time.”

“Guess so,” Katniss agreed.  Then the smile slipped from her face, and she tightened the grip on his hand.  “Gale, I’m so sorry.  I went to tell you this morning not to go out in the woods, but I was too late, and now look at what-”

“Katniss, shut up,” Gale demanded quietly, though his voice cracked.  “It’s not your fault.  We always knew we were playing with fire going out there.  You warned me they were going to watch us more after the tour.  I just took the risk anyway.”  He moaned slightly, and Katniss reached for the morphling box.

“Do you want some of this?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“Not right now.  Soon, though.  What...what happened anyway?”

Threading her fingers through his, she told him how she’d been on her way to the Seam in the hopes she’d catch him, but had ended up coming across the whipping in the square.  She was careful to eliminate that she had been coming from Peeta’s house, even now concerned of what his reaction would be to that news.

She told him how she’d stood in front of him in defense, how Peeta had, how Haymitch had, and how Thread had had no choice but to stop - especially after it was pointed out who she was.  And how with the help of his crew, had made their way back here to do what they could.  Madge’s morphling had been an unexpected, and welcome, relief.

“So...so you and Haymitch helped…and the little rebel did too,” he grunted, and Katniss nodded.  “I guess I should say thanks to him.”

“You can later,” Katniss told him, grimaced as his hand clenched around hers tightly, too tightly.  “But please, let me give you more of this.  I can see you’re in pain.”

Gale nodded, allowed her to feed him more of the numbing liquid.  “So you gonna let me be part of the rebellion now?”  He mumbled.

“You bet your ass I am,” she confirmed, “They can’t say no to you now, not after this.” He smiled once, squeezed her hand, before slipping under.

********

She felt arms wrap around her, one under her knees, the other around her back.  She felt herself being lifted into the air, and she shifted, got more comfortable against whatever held her.  It was soft and warm and hard and comforting all in one go.  Her arms hung limply in her lap, her head rolling off a slope that could have been a shoulder; she wasn’t sure.  But she floated from the room, up a set of stairs, before she was laid down across a surface that was soft and plush and nothing like the hard table she’d rested her head against for most of the day.

“Where am I?” she murmured.  A hand tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear, trailed their fingers across her cheek, soft and gentle. _Peeta._

“I brought you up to bed,” he told her.  “Gale’s still out.  And you need to sleep properly.”

She nodded, gripped the pillow under her head in her hands.  “Ok,” she muttered without a fight, the exhaustion from the day all-encompassing. “Will you stay with me again?”

She got no response, but the bed dipped under her, and his warmth enveloped her side, drawing her close.  She could feel his heart, strong and constant, under her ear, the soft exhalation of his breath, the faint brush of his hand against her arm. 

Katniss drifted back to sleep, prepared for the inevitable.

********

Peeta rubbed his hands over his face, stared down at the prone man in front of him.  He’d taken Katniss to bed hours before, laid with her for as long as he could before he realised he was too wired to sleep.  Not even the feeling of her in his arms could calm him, reign in the temper that felt like it was bubbling under the skin.  So he’d ventured back downstairs, relieved Alice of where she’d been watching over Gale.  She’d argued only for a moment, before he reminded her that he needed her and Prim to be alert and awake to care for Gale as best they could tomorrow.  She’d wandered down the hall, her hands wringing her skirts as she muttered to herself.  Katniss wasn’t the only person this situation was getting to.

The fire had banked, and the clock in the lounge had announced 2am with two deep bongs not long before.  But he couldn’t take his eyes off the heavily coated back in front of him, the steady rhythm of Gale’s breathing keeping him focused.  As long as he kept breathing, they were ok, they’d get by.  He didn’t want to think of what may happen if he didn’t.

“You’re still awake.”  Peeta slid his eyes over to see Haymitch leaning against the kitchen door, one leg crossed in front of the other as he raised a glass tumbler to his lips.

“So are you,” Peeta replied shortly.  Haymitch snorted, moved into the room, plonked heavily into the chair beside Peeta.  He noted the older man looked everywhere but at Gale’s back.

“I never sleep unless I have enough of this in me.” He raised the tumbler in salute.  “And today that didn’t happen.  So I’m making up for it now.”

“Why are you still here?” Peeta asked.

“Same reason as you, kid. Plus it’s snowing as all shit out there, in case you hadn’t noticed.  Figured the sofa here is a comfortable as the sofa over there.”  He aimed his thumb in the general direction he knew his house to be, took another sip, before finally looking back at Gale.  “Ah shit.  I keep hoping whenever I look at it, it won’t be as bad as I remember.”

“Thread did a number on him,” Peeta admitted.  “He’s just lucky we got there when we did.  I’m not sure he could have survived if the whipping had continued.”

Haymitch nodded, took a deep breath.  “I told her to wait til today.  She could have gone yesterday, been there waiting when he got home from the mines, but no, I told her to leave it.”

“Katniss already tried to blame herself, and you can’t either,” Peeta admonished.  “Regardless of whether Katniss told him not to go out there anymore or not, he still could have gone, still been caught.  I get the feeling Gale isn’t a big one for rules.”

Haymitch shrugged.  “And none of us were holding the whip in our hand either, I guess.”

“Exactly.”  He raised one hand to the back of his neck, manipulated the muscles that were tight.  He rested his elbow on the table, covered his mouth with his hand, still lowered his voice out of habit.  “Shit, Haymitch, what the hell is going on?  How has it gotten this bad?”

Haymitch shook his head, his gaze falling to the ground.  “You know as well as I do, kid, that Snow’s got it in for her.  It’s his way of keeping her in line.”

“The new Peacekeeper detail?  The new Head?  All just to keep Katniss in _line_?”

The responding nod was slow.  “Snow wants her to do as she’s told - he already warned her, and this is just another.  But trust me, it’s really no more than what’s happening in the other districts to deter the possibility of rebellions.”

“What, every District has a new Head?”  Peeta challenged.  “Commander Lyme would have gotten word out to someone before their radio silence set in if that was the case.”

“Ok, ok,” Haymitch acquiesced.  “So maybe it’s a little bit more thorough here.  But, kid, it makes sense.  Katniss is from here, and Cray was the biggest piece of shit Head Peacekeeper I’d ever seen in my life.  I’m surprised he wasn’t gone years ago.”

“They didn’t care before Katniss,” Peeta reminded him.

“Got me there,” Haymitch raised his head, tipped his now empty glass at him.  “Don’t care about some old drunken ass like me.”

“Then they’re stupid,” Peeta murmured.  “You’re far more astute than you let on.”

“There you go, kid,” Haymitch raised an eyebrow, almost winked.  “There you go.”  They sat in silence for a few moments, both ruminating on the changes of the District over the last few days.  Finally Haymitch stood, didn’t bother to cover his mouth when he belched.  “Gonna go sleep.  Gotta rest up before I call Effie in the morning and break the news that Katniss’ face ain’t exactly camera ready.  I wish we could postpone it…”

“They won’t go for that,” Peeta said bluntly.  “They’ll cover it up as best they can, then come up with an excuse for whatever is still visible.”

“Wishful thinking, is all,” Haymitch shrugged as he walked out.  “Don’t stay up all night.  You’re gonna need some sleep too.”

Peeta nodded distractedly, his attention already back to Gale.

_Up, down, in, out.  As long as he kept breathing, they were fine._

********

She’d changed out of the sweat-soaked clothes she’d slept in, showered away the dregs of the nightmare that lingered after she woke.  She’d taken a moment to close her eyes, to get her breathing under control, to calm her racing heart.  Now she tiptoed down the stairs, careful to avoid the third one down that always squeaked under the slightest bit of weight.  It was still early, and if people had been taking turns watching over Gale, the last thing anyone needed was to be woken by her clomping down the stairs.

Reaching the landing, she glanced out the window beside it, noticed the snow still falling.  The Village was white-washed; snow drifts piled a meter high.

_Effie was going to hate it when she arrived._

Turning towards the kitchen, she stopped in surprise when she saw Peeta sitting beside Gale, his back ram-rod straight and his eyes firmly focused on Gale’s back.  It was weird, seeing these two parts of her life in one room - the link to her past and her family’s survival, the link to a new future for Panem - and maybe for her, if she allowed herself to think about it.  She never had before, not really - nothing more than an emphatic determination that a relationship wasn’t for her.  And then Peeta had walked into the Village, and turned everything on its head. 

But the juxtaposition between these two very different parts of her life was startling in the early morning light.  It wasn’t that she’d ever considered anything with Gale - her reaction to his announcement in the woods last week was evidence of that - but he’d been a part of her life for...well, ever since their fathers died.  It was just hard to correlate that both of the men in this room meant so much to her, in completely different ways.

She walked over to Peeta, and he started, whirling to face her. “Ah, shit, Katniss, you scared me,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

“Sorry,” she murmured.  “How is he?”

“He’s been asleep the whole time, but his fever has dropped.”

“And you’ve been awake all this time?”

“People needed to rest,” he shrugged. She looked at him, studied the black smudges under his eyes, highlighted by the almost translucent pallor of his skin, and wondered how someone from the Capitol could be like _this_.  Could sit here with a relative stranger for hours on end, for no obvious reason.

Except for her.

She sat beside him, drew his hand into hers.  “You didn’t have to do this,” Katniss said quietly.  “This isn’t your responsibility.”

“It’s no ones responsibility,” Peeta replied emphatically. 

“Then why?”

“Why?  It’s just what people should do.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Shit, Katniss, do you know what it’s like to grow up in a place where no one cares about anyone but _themselves_?  For so long I felt out of place, and it wasn’t until I met Cressida and Cinna and the others that are a part of the rebellion that I felt like I belonged.  But this?  The concern your mom and Prim, Madge and Gale’s crew - it blows my mind.  You don’t do it because you have to.  You do it because it’s right, because you _want_ to.  It makes all the difference.  And I want to do that too.”

She squeezed his hand.  “You know you are.  Every time you do something for the rebellion you are.”

“This is different,” Peeta replied quietly, looking back up at her.  “That’s for everyone.  This is for your family.  Gale is...your family.”

Katniss sighed.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s ok. I just want you to know I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do,” he told her, and yawned, barely able to contain it.  She pulled away, rising to her feet and grasping his hand, pulling him up after her.  “Go and sleep, use my room.  I need to sit with Gale awhile.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

He reached up, drifted his fingertips under the cut marring her cheek.  “Come and wake me in a few hours?” 

Katniss nodded, watched Peeta walk up the stairs, the exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders.  Glancing down at Gale, she took her seat again, tucked his hand in hers. If sleep had given her any clarity, it was that Peeta’s words to her the day before were right - this was Snow’s fault, Thread’s fault, not hers.  But while the guilt had lessened, she still felt a degree of responsibility.  So she would wait here, and help as much as she could.

It was the least she could do for him.

********

With time came healing - and another two feet of snow.  By Monday evening, they had moved Gale into the guest bedroom on the first floor, knowing there was no way they wanted him on display when the Capitol came calling.  His wounds weren’t as severe, weren’t as harsh, as they had been on Sunday, and Katniss knew that was, in part, due to the morphling.  The relief from pain would have helped to prevent Gale’s body from seizing and tensing from the tremors, like it had when they’d ripped through him painfully during those first few hours.

But while Gale was healing, getting in and out of the house was another thing entirely.

Haymitch had fought his way back to his house as soon as everyone had woken on Monday morning - and was only allowed to go after Katniss had made him promise to call the moment he stepped inside his door.  Grunted complaints about the likelihood of him freezing to death in a snow drift were ignored, and he’d dutifully called, then immediately hung up once Katniss answered.

It was the one thing that had put a smile on her face in two days.

Peeta had camped out in the living room, the walk to the Capitol house further and more treacherous than a simple walk across the street.  She hadn’t minded, and Alice hadn’t argued.  Prim had enjoyed having someone in the house for once who liked having a conversation. 

They worked in teams of two - Alice and Prim, Katniss and Peeta - tending to Gale’s wounds.  Katniss had had to bite her tongue when Gale had offered a mumbled, stiff and polite thank you to Peeta for standing up for him, and Peeta had replied just as formally.  The two of them were going to have to get over whatever issues they had with each other if they both had the intention of being in her life.  One way or another.

Tuesday was long, the hours dragging as they went through the same routine.  Katniss didn’t know what was worse - waiting for Wednesday or the day itself.  The only thing getting her through were the laughs that Prim would let loose when Peeta told her a story about the Capitol, the way he would occasionally shoot her a glance that was only meant for the two of them, the more confident her mother became with Gale’s recovery.

The morning of the interview dawned with bright sunshine, the rays glinting like diamonds against the snow, and a sky free of clouds and falling snowflakes.  Katniss stood at the back door, mug filled with the sweet smelling hot chocolate Peeta had made each morning so far - _she hadn’t even known those ingredients were in her kitchen_ \- staring out into the woodlands at the back of the property.  They were small, nowhere near as grandiose as _her_ woods, but for the moment, they would have to do.  They were close, and she could see them, and it was better than nothing.

She heard the footsteps as they came in behind her, didn’t startle as a hand rested against the small of her back. “You’re up early,” Peeta said, his arm slipping around her waist as he moved to stand beside her.  It still felt weird, having someone who would so easily touch you without a second thought.  “I made that expecting it to get cold before I had to heat it again for everyone.”

“We have a lot to do today,” Katniss said simply, and he nodded. 

“I’ll have to go down to the house, welcome Caesar.  I don’t know what they’re going to do with the roads, how they’re going to get here; they’re completely blocked off with snow still.”  He shrugged.  “They know their logistics, I guess.”

Katniss glanced at him. “They’re all coming on the same train, right?”

Peeta reached into his pocket, pulled out the comm device Katniss now recognised as his officially sanctioned one.  He pressed buttons at random, and she looked at it curiously as he began flicking his forefinger across the screen.  “Ah...latest word is by hovercraft, actually.  Better for the weather - they can land right in front of the entrance of the Village.  Handy.  But yeah - Caesar, his crew, Effie and your prep team.”

“And Cinna?” Katniss asked.  Peeta glanced at the screen again, then nodded.  “Good,” she breathed. _An ally amongst a war of makeup and waxing strips._

Peeta tightened his arm around her, then lifted her still bandaged hand, pressed a kiss lightly to the palm before he broke away.  “I might go now, get some things done before Caesar arrives.  I’ll be back at about 6, ok?”  Katniss nodded, watched as he smiled, then walked down the hall to the front door.  He gave her a small wave before he closed the door behind him, and she turned back to face her yard.

_Another dress, another interview.  Another day pandering to the Capitol._

_Whatever it took._

********

Peeta buttoned his coat against the brisk morning chill, lifted his second comm from his pocket.  He’d known the message had come through an hour before, but figured it was for the best that he wait until he was out of the Everdeen’s house.

Deftly punching in his key code, the screen came to life with the pre-recorded message - Cressida this time, not Plutarch as he’d become used to.

“Peeta, we hope you’re well.  We unfortunately saw the footage of the whipping in Twelve – our sympathies - and understand you have been ensconced in the Everdeen home.  However, we needed to advise you that Caesar’s visit is two-fold - a member of his crew has been instructed to install new cameras.  From this evening, the Everdeen home will be as much under surveillance as everywhere else.”  _Shit._   “Thankfully, Mr Abernathy’s home wasn’t given clearance this time.  His remains as is until further notice.  Good luck with the interview today - I’m sure it’s going to be fascinating.”  She raised her eyebrow, cocked her head, and he knew she was mocking him.  Shaking his own head, he pocketed the comm again.  Today was going to be a _big, big, big day,_ he thought ruefully, thinking of Katniss’ overzealous escort as he trudged through the snow.  He just hoped they could pull it off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading, for kudo-ing and commenting. It means a lot :)
> 
> Shout out to the ladies who encourage me every day. Couldn't do it without you.


	9. Chapter 9

Peeta stared out the window and cupped his hands around the mug of hot chocolate, blowing into it gently, causing steam to rise up and drift across his face.  Making it for Katniss and her family the past few mornings had become a habit, and now, when nerves were rife and a million thoughts were running through his head, habit was helping to keep him grounded.  He’d made a batch that would probably quench the sweet thirst of twenty men, and figured it would at least go over well when the crew arrived - he made a mental note to take the pot over when he returned to the Everdeen’s with Caesar in tow.

Right now, he couldn’t be any more prepared than what he was.  He’d swept the house of any incendiaries, anything that could raise suspicion from the crew that would be arriving. He’d had to use the holograph cover for longer than he usually liked, but it was unavoidable - he'd done a thorough sweep, and afterwards he’d had to secrete everything away into a floorboard he’d loosened in the cupboard in the mudroom, and that definitely wasn’t something he’d wanted them seeing.

He couldn’t be too careful.  Especially now.

He’d already sent a comm to Plutarch and Cressida, advising of Gale’s request to become involved in the rebellion, and Katniss’ promise to him that she would make it happen.  He still didn’t know exactly what Gale would be able to do, but Katniss had promised - and after what Gale had gone through, he couldn’t blame her.  Either way, he’d done his part by passing the request along and from there, it was up to the powers that be. As of now, all he could do was wait for Caesar and his team to arrive - and think.

Resting a hand on the windowsill, fingers gripping the treated wood, he sipped slowly at the chocolate, watched the afternoon sun as it glinted against the snow packed earth. It was beautiful, it was _real_ , and the longer he was away from the Capitol, the easier it became for him to remove himself from his heritage. After spending more time with Katniss in her home, in her town, it was becoming harder and harder to imagine going back.

He knew those he grew up with would find it reprehensible, his family wouldn’t understand.  Giving up the endless luxuries of the Capitol, for the coal lined streets of Twelve. But the moment of clarity had come to him when he and Katniss had sat in an abandoned rotunda, the bitter cold surrounding them, as he finally shared with her his life in the Capitol.

He’d worried she’d judge him when he spoke of the life he’d become accustomed to, the way the Capitol worked.  But she hadn’t, and as he progressed had simply sat silent as he told her of the disappointment that he was to his family, the way he was sure that if they’d never really forgiven him for turning his back on the bakery, they’d never forgive him for this.  She’d pursed her lips as he’d spoken of the way his mother had always treated him, of the absent affection from his father, of his brothers who, despite a natural bond they shared while in the bakery, much preferred the nightlife and pleasures of the Capitol above and beyond the company of their younger brother.

And when she’d laid her lips gently on his cheek, and said that they were the ones missing out, he’d realised that the Capitol was the last place in the world for him. Whether this rebellion was a success or not, it would never be his home again. Somehow, someway, when the time was right, Twelve would be his home.

Really, wherever Katniss was, he would be too.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and his gaze shifted to the entry gates of the Village; the hovercraft was gently landing in the open area beyond it, just like it had the first day he’d arrived in Twelve. Placing his now empty mug on a side table, he took a deep breath.   _The circus had come to town._

********

“Ahhh, Peeta!  Peeta Mellark, how are you?!” Caesar Flickerman’s effervescent voice - and his presence - filled the room as he stepped inside the house.  He thrust a hand forward enthusiastically, shaking Peeta’s hand to the extent Peeta was concerned his arm would fall off.

“Good thank you, it’s nice to meet you,” Peeta replied, gingerly extracting his hand from Caesar’s grip.

“Wonderful, wonderful.  Oh what a day!  I haven’t travelled this far from the Capitol before, what a moment! Twelve seems so quaint!” Peeta managed to hide his grimace at Caesar’s words, watched the crew accompanying Caesar file into the room.  He glanced out the window, saw Effie, Cinna and the prep team continue up the street to the Everdeen home, but swivelled his gaze back at the touch of a gentle hand on his arm.  “Peeta, you zoned out.  I was asking where the bathroom was - in these dainty little houses, it's hard to know where everything is!”  Caesar smiled two wide lines of perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Ah, of course, sorry.  It’s just down that hall, the powder room is the second door on the left.”

“Wonderful.  And then we can catch up for a little while before we make our way up to the Everdeen home.  You’re a very mysterious man, Mr Mellark, hiding out here the last week while the Capitol goes crazy for your romance.” Caesar winked, turning on the heel of his powder blue shoes - his theme from the 74th and the Victory tour still continuing - and practically sashaying down the hall.

Caesar Flickerman was obviously very, _very_ excited to be here.

Without Caesar’s energy dominating the room, Peeta was able to study the crew who had accompanied him.  While they had the camera bots for any outside shots, there were three other camera operators for the actual interview - a man with purple hair and a lightning strike tattooed along his cheekbone, another who wore a lime green jacket and sported a mohawk, and a woman with hair that twisted in multi-coloured knots around her head, her lips painted bright red and shaped into a heart.  In addition, there looked to be a single sound technician, and the producer for the interview, who had barely glanced up from the electronic tablet in his hand since their arrival.

It was obvious that their equipment was state of the art, possibly off the latest production line. They were definitely updated versions of the equipment that had been used during the last games.  As expected, none of them looked familiar to him - Caesar had his own permanent crew that worked with him on every production.  He had no clue which one was going to be responsible for planting the new surveillance in the Everdeen home, but it was definitely something to keep an eye on. _The more he could find out, the better._

“Peeta,” He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, and turned to face a smiling Caesar, “You must tell me a little about yourself before the interview with Katniss.”

“Of course,” Peeta replied.  “First, can I get you anything?  A drink, something to eat?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Caesar waved the question away and gestured to the wide loveseat in the lounge.  He perched on it for a moment before bouncing a little.  “Ah, yes, if the Everdeen’s have a similar sofa, it will be _perfect_ for the two of you to sit on,” he winked.

“I...I suppose,” Peeta replied, gingerly sitting down next to him.  There was something about Caesar’s apparent endless energy and excitement that put him slightly on edge. It was like the man was always _on_ , as though the persona he displayed on-screen for interview was the way he was every day.  He just hoped that ‘sincere, softly-spoken Caesar’ would show up soon, because this version was exhausting already.

“Yes, yes, perfect!” He clapped his hands together, as Peeta has seen him do many times over the years, and leant back in the seat, crossing one leg over the other.  He adopted the soft tone Peeta had been hoping for.  “So, Peeta.  Tell me your story.”  

_It was like he was already being interviewed._ “There isn’t much to tell,” Peeta shrugged.

“Sources tell me you’re from the Mellarks of _Mellarks Bakery_.”

“They’d be correct.  I spent many of my formative years in the bakery.”

“Yet you chose a very different career - production?”

_Here’s where he needed to tread carefully, use the specially concocted background story Plutarch had created for him years ago_. “Yes.  I’d always had an interest in the arts, in photography in particular, though I had no formal training.”

“And how did you end up working for Capitol Productions? It’s certainly the cream of the crop.”

“By chance,” Peeta said with a grin. “I was out photographing the sunset, and completely and utterly tripped over my own feet when I wasn’t looking where I was going.  Cressida - you know who Cressida is, I’m sure - happened to be there, caught my camera just before it hit the ground.  It almost happened in slow motion; I could just see this camera flying out of my hand and smashing into a million pieces.  Instead, Cressida caught it, saw my images and pretty much demanded I appear in their offices the next day.”

Caesar hooted in delight.  “How fortuitous! And your family?  How are they with the different career, and now all of this attention you’re receiving?”

_Ouch_.  “Well, it’s certainly different for all of them,” he said blithely.

“Of course, of course,” Caesar nodded.  

He kept asking questions, and Peeta kept answering them, embellishing where needed, paring back otherwise.  His head was already throbbing, a dull ache settled at the base of his neck.  Tonight was going to be a long night.

********

Katniss didn’t even wait for them to knock on the door - she was flinging it open and launching into Cinna’s arms as soon as he stepped onto the front stoop.  He laughed, a warm chuckle in her ear as his arms banded around her waist, squeezed gently before stepping back.  

“Hello to you too,” he greeted, reaching up and shucking her chin. She flushed.

"Sorry."

"It's nothing to be sorry for," he assured her.

“It’s just...good to see you,” she admitted.  “It’s been a rough few days.”

His eyes softened, and he nodded, running a finger gently across the healing gash across her cheek. “This looks better than I expected when Effie called me, hysterical, telling me half your face was practically missing.”

“Well it is!” Effie’s indignant voice spoke up behind him, pushing past into the warmth of the Everdeen’s front hall.  She clucked her tongue, pulled off the candy pink gloves she wore.  “Honestly, I don’t know what we’ll do with it.”  She leant in, peering closely at the injury.  “When Haymitch called to tell me I almost fainted!”

Katniss glanced at Cinna, who shook his head almost imperceptibly while masking a grin. “It will be fine, Effie,” he said calmly.  “My team know exactly what they’re doing.”

“Don’t we ever!” Flavius stepped inside, rolled the ‘r’ as though he was Caesar himself on stage.  Venia and Octavia followed close behind, arms laden with bags and boxes.  “Venia’s going to have to perform a miracle, but she’ll do it!”

“That’s, uh, good,” Katniss muttered, and allowed herself to be led into the front parlour, where she’d been told the interview would be held. Cinna reached for her hand at the last moment, tugged her to a standstill.  He looked over her shoulder as the team began to set up a makeshift prep area, as Effie fussed over Prim, who had been sitting in front of the fire with Buttercup. “The crew….” he began, then trailed off.  He cleared his throat, lowering his voice.  “Are bringing new cameras to install.  The upgraded ones.”

“Oh.” Katniss’ face drained of colour, knowing that she now had one less place she couldn’t speak her mind in.

“Not ideal,” he agreed, “But not unexpected. However, Haymitch’s home isn't being upgraded at this time, so at least you have a safe point there. The contact we have in Three is proving to be very, very good at his job, and was able to get word to us about it all quickly,” Cinna said quietly.  Katniss opened her mouth to respond, but noticed Effie on the other side of the room, waving to them impatiently.  

“You should head over,” Cinna told her, and with a sigh she went to Effie, allowed the escort to lead her to the chair in the middle of the room. Plonking down on it unceremoniously, she was immediately attacked with brushes and pencils and powders.  Sighs and bitter complaints echoed about the state of her eyebrows, about her split ends, about the mark on her face. She was poked, prodded, plucked, though managed to avoid any horrendous waxing.  Her hair was teased and curled and smoothed until it ran in large waves midway down her back, and partially covered her cheek.

She allowed her mind to drift, blocking out the chatter around her, thinking back to her morning. After Peeta had left she'd tugged on her boots, and with the snow left behind partially cleared and easier to manage, had trudged along the outskirts of town to the Seam, and to Hazelle. She'd laden down her bag with food, knowing that without Gale working, money and supplies would be tight for the Hawthornes.

What she hadn't expected was to hear that the mines had been closed since the whipping, and the Hob deserted, guarded constantly by Peacekeepers.

Hazelle hadn't said much, couldn't give her anything concrete. But when she did speak, her voice was stoic and her shoulders strong. There had been no reason given behind the mines closing, but it wasn't hard for Katniss to guess.

_Thread was getting his revenge in the only way he could._

Katniss had left the food, with a promise that Gale would be home in a day or two. Hazelle hadn't argued at the provisions - the simple squeeze of Katniss' shoulder with her hand said all she needed to say.

A sudden demand to look in the mirror broke her out of her reverie, and startled, she glanced into the gilt edged frame held by Venia in front of her.  She had to admit, gently touching her cheek, that between the hair and the artfully applied makeup, you could hardly see the whips lash.  

She’d had to forgo the privacy of dressing herself a long time ago, and allowed Cinna to help her change in the small powder room; as usual, he’d outdone himself.  A simple dark green dress - a deep V-neck, sleeves that hugged her wrists, and a skirt that brushed her knees - with sheer tights as thin and delicate as a cobweb and the simple black flats she’d found she actually liked while on the Victory Tour.  Her mockingjay pin, proudly displayed right above her heart, and a simple gold bangle encircling her wrist, completed the look. She at least still looked like her.

She sighed in relief the moment Cinna announced her ready, and as her team began packing away their instruments of torture.  Effie still hovered nearby, a critical eye studying the room and it’s suitability for the filming, until a beeping sound emitted from the comm she’d been holding permanently in her hand since their arrival. “They’ll be here in ten minutes!” she crowed.  “Hurry up and pack that all away!”

Katniss took the opportunity to slip out of the room, Cinna pre-occupied with speaking with Prim, her mother nowhere to be seen, and snuck down the hall to the guest room.  Quietly opening the door, she slid between the gap and closed it behind her, studied the way Gale was lying on his side, gazing out the open window.  His back, facing her, was still an ugly criss-crossing of welts, and she fought the urge to cringe.

“Hey,” she said softly, and he quickly turned his head, his eyes lighting when he saw her.

“I’m bored to death, Catnip,” he complained, and she laughed.  Moving over to the bed, she sat on the end of it, twisted her fingers in her lap.

“Sorry.  But what can you do?  You still need to rest.”

“I know,” he muttered, eyes tracking over her.  She felt self-conscious, but not in the way she would have a few days ago.  This was different.  “You look nice,” he finally said.  “All painted and polished.”

“All show, no substance,” she countered, and he rolled his eyes.

“You knew this was coming,” he told her pointedly.  “And the more you’re with _him_ , the more it will happen.”

“He has a name you know.”

“Yeah I know.  I’ll use it one day.”

“You still don’t trust him,” she accused.

“I still don’t _know_ him,” he countered.  “I’ve got nothing to go on except your word.  And while yes, that’s good enough, I still want to form my own opinion.”

“You already formed it a long time ago,” Katniss told him.  He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Fine,” he admitted begrudgingly.  “You’re right.”

Katniss smiled.  “That’s a first.”

“Saying you’re right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I could say the same.  You’re as stubborn as I am,” he smirked.  He attempted to shrug, though he winced as the movement stretched the skin across his back.  “Anyway, don’t you have an interview you should be attending?”

“In about ten minutes,” she confirmed.  “I just needed to see how you were going first.”

“Well I’m fine,” he told her.  “Just bored.  And worried.  While I’m here, I’m not in the mines, I’m not working.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him what Hazelle had told her not three hours before.

“It’s fine,” Katniss assured.  “I went to see them this morning and your mom and the kids are fine, ok?”  Gale nodded reluctantly - he knew as well as Katniss did that Hazelle would accept Katniss’ help with none of the defiance that he would show - then looked out the window again.  She could see the fatigue on his face, knew he would be asleep within minutes.  Dropping her head, she murmured her next words. “I...I also wanted to tell you that they’re installing surveillance in the lower levels of the house.  So that they can listen.”

His mouth dropped open, eyes flying up to bore into hers. “They’re spying on you?  They must know, Katniss.”

Katniss shook her head.  “I don’t think so.  I get the feeling they keep an eye on all their victors, but President Snow’s directive means he probably wants to keep more of a watch on me than normal."

“Great,” he practically spat.  “Is nowhere in this damned country safe?”

“I can’t help this, Gale, don’t get angry at me,” Katniss warned, her own voice rising slightly.

“I’m not,” he snapped, then visibly reined himself in.  “Sorry. But….”

“It doesn’t change anything.  In the next day or so, you can go home, and you don’t have to worry about any of this.”

He looked at her incredulously.  “I’ll never stop worrying, Katniss.  And I won’t stop wanting to fight, either. When are you going to realise that?"

Katniss took a breath, and then suddenly heard Effie screeching her name; she glanced towards the door.

“Go,” Gale told her dismissively.  "We can talk later.”

She stood, looked back down at him, but he already had his eyes closed. With a sigh, she rushed outside before Effie had the chance to call for her again.

********

Peeta smelt like cinnamon, and the pot of chocolate he’d carried over.  She had to stop herself from dipping her head, pressing her nose to the skin below his ear, and breathing him in.  It was the thing she wanted to do the most, but also the last thing she wanted to do with an audience.

Caesar had arrived, much like a whirlwind, greeting Katniss like a long lost friend, and had been enraptured with the appearance of Prim, who he spoke to in low, reverent tones. Haymitch, who'd arrived only minutes before and seemed well into his daily intake of liquor, watched everything with distaste clear on his face, and his eyes narrowed in annoyance. Katniss gratefully stood to the side, waited for the crew to set up, enjoying the last few moments where the attention wasn’t on her.  But it didn’t last long, and soon enough she and Peeta had been placed on the loveseat in the front room, the fire blazing behind them.  At first she’d sat beside him, feet planted flat on the floor, her hands clutching at her knees.  But his warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder drew her to him and, without even thinking, she kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet up under her, and leant gently against Peeta’s side.

She ignored the look of pure, unadulterated joy on Caesar’s face.  

“Katniss, Peeta, are you ready?” Caesar asked as he lowered himself into a high-backed armchair he’d had brought in from the library; they both nodded.  “Good.  Now just remember, we’re live across Panem with this interview.” _How could she forget?_ “Do you have any questions? No? Great.  Veruca, let’s get going, shall we?”  He gestured to the female camera operator who nodded, and situated herself behind the camera that was going to be capturing Caesar’s close-ups.  The red light blinked on and off on the camera, before steadying.  Katniss could see Caesar mouthing to himself - _four, three, two_ \- before he plastered a smile on his face.

“Good evening, Panem!  It’s Caesar Flickerman here, and it’s my pleasure to be joining you all the way from District Twelve!  I was honoured when President Snow asked if I would come and visit our latest Victor here - after all, it’s not very often we get a story such as this.”  He crossed one leg over the other, steepled his fingers together.  “Over the past few weeks, we’ve had the honour of seeing our beloved victor, Katniss Everdeen, fall in love in front of our very eyes.” Katniss wanted to flinch at the words - _were they even true?  Had she really fallen in love with Peeta?  She knew she felt something, but was it something that strong?_ \- but she kept her face as impassive as she could.  “However, that’s not where the story ends.  Because her love just happens to be from the Capitol - and from quite a prominent family.” He smiled winningly, then turned his attention to the couple on the sofa beside him.  “Katniss, it’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Caesar,” she replied as pleasantly as she could.  “I had no idea we would see each other again so soon.”

“Ah, neither did I, my dear, neither did I! But it’s under such wonderful circumstances.”

“Um, yes, yes it is.”

“Now, we discussed in depth at the end of the Victory Tour how your life has changed since you won the games, the affect it has had on your family.  So we won’t talk about that here today.  What I _am_ here for,” he began slyly, “Is to speak about the person by your side, Peeta Mellark, the lucky and much envied young man who has caught your eye.”

This time Katniss couldn’t prevent the blush that rose on her cheeks - _this was possibly worse than she’d thought it would be_ \- but she managed to nod.

“I think it’s time for us to get to know him a little better, don’t you?” _Another nod_.  “Good, good!  So, Peeta, it’s wonderful to have you with us,” Caesar shifted slightly in his seat, his focus now solely on Peeta.  She could feel the deep breath he inhaled, the rise and fall of his chest against her arm.  “Speaking with you earlier today, I discovered you’re related to the Mellarks of _Mellarks Bakery_.”

“Yes, Caesar, that’s correct,” he nodded. "My parents are the current proprietors."

“That must have been fascinating, growing up in such an environment.  The Capitol goes _crazy_ for the delicacies from there! I know I've carried a few extra pounds here and there from those cheese buns!" He winked at the camera, and Katniss could almost hear the Capitol laughing in delight.

Peeta grinned. "Well who can blame you? They're my favourite item on the menu too!"

Katniss tuned Caesar out, instead focusing on Peeta, on the way he reacted to the questions he was being asked.  He was smooth, his answers modulated and well spoken. He smiled when he needed to, laughed when it seemed appropriate. On occasion his fingers would clench around hers, a quick tightening that made her realise she was gripping onto his for dear life. So she'd flex her fingers, loosen them, only for the same scenario to repeat itself.

She shook her head, forced herself to listen to the two of them properly. Caesar was now facing the camera again, blue eyebrow perfectly raised, a wide smile on his face. "Now for those of you still blissfully unaware, Peeta was this years official photographer for the Victor Portraits. It was his duty to accompany Miss Everdeen throughout the tour, capture her journey. Although I don't think _any_ of us were expecting the journey to turn out the way it did." He turned back to them, leant forward slightly in his chair.

"Let's get to the nitty gritty, shall we, the information we _all_ want to know. Katniss, tell me about the first time you saw Peeta."

Katniss swallowed heavily. "Well...to be perfectly honest, I was quite rude to him, and hardly gave him the time of day." Caesar laughed, gestured for her to continue. "I wasn't the nicest person at all. But during his time here, and while on the Victory Tour, he became a friend."

"And more?" Caesar prompted, with a glint in his eye.

"Y-y-yes," Katniss stammered.

"And Peeta? How did you feel the first time you met Katniss?"

She felt Peeta's eyes on her as he responded. "I knew I'd met someone very, very unique. Who would become important to me. Who had the potential to turn my life upside down." _Oh._

Caesar held a hand to his heart, sighed almost theatrically; Katniss only just managed to hold back a snort. "How lovely! Yet while all this was happening, the rest of Panem remained completely in the dark about your budding romance until _that_ kiss at the Presidents mansion."

Peeta chuckled. "Well, that just...happened.  Neither of us planned it; it just felt right in the moment."

"And then it was out there for all of Panem to see," Caesar winked. "And I must say, we’ve simply marvelled at-”

_She didn’t hear any more, her mind blanked.  All she could see was an arrow piercing flesh, blood gushing over pale skin and muddied clothes.  Green eyes that looked at her in horror, the mouth that so often turned up in mocking laughter grimacing in pain. Her ears filled with a roar, Rue's whimpers, the gurgles from the back of Marvel's throat as blood dribbled from his lips.  Her chest constricted, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't-_

"Katniss? Are you ok? Katniss?" She blinked, looked up into Peeta's face, which was etched with concern. Looking around wildly, she tried to gather her bearings, even while her heart raced and her mouth begged to let out a strangled moan. But Peeta's hand around hers, the quiet murmurs under his breath, steadied her. She was ok. She was here, in her home, in Twelve.

_She wasn't in the Arena, and neither was Marvel._

"Sorry Caesar," she mumbled.

"No, no, my dear, it's fine, of course. I dare say you may still be slightly concussed from the slip you took on the ice a few days ago that caused the scratch to your face," he replied soothingly. _Ah. That was the official story, was it?_

"Yes, that's probably it," she said.

Caesar nodded, then turned back to Peeta as though nothing had happened. “You've now spent some time out here in Twelve, Peeta, which must be _such_ an experience for you. But to return the favour, can we expect to see Katniss visiting the Capitol before the next games?"

"I think it's easier for me at the moment to travel to Twelve than for Katniss come to me," Peeta interrupted smoothly, and Katniss squeezed his hand in thanks. She hadn't considered a visit to the Capitol necessary - as it was, the thought of returning for the games alone was enough to line her stomach with lead.

"Of course, that makes perfect sense.  And it sounds like things are rather serious between you, if you _have_ been forward thinking about seeing each other." He leant forward, lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Is this it then? Have you both found 'The One'?"

This time Katniss couldn't help the way the colour drained from her cheeks. _She was only seventeen. Why was he even asking something like this? Did it even matter? This whole thing was a damned farce._

"I think that's for Katniss and I to know for now," Peeta said with a grin, releasing her hand and wrapping his arm back around her again as he'd done earlier. "A little intrigue is nice, don't you think?"

As Katniss looked at Caesar, and as Caesar winked knowingly back, she thought she'd just about had enough intrigue to last a lifetime.

********

They stood on the front porch, watched as the crew and her team navigated their way back down the darkened street towards the waiting hovercraft. The stars and occasional lamppost guided their way, and Katniss was glad when they finally melted into the darkness, and out of sight.

"Well, thank goodness that's over," Peeta murmured, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his pants. He rocked back on his heels, took a deep breath in. "You ok?"

Katniss nodded, folded her arms across her chest to rub some warmth into her body. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?  In there-"

"It was nothing."

Peeta turned to her, lifted his hands so they cupped her cheeks. "It didn't look like nothing," he said gently. "Will you please tell me what happened? Caesar was talking and then suddenly you were out, face pale, your eyes as wide as saucers. It was almost like when you had the nightmare in the screen room on the train."

She shrugged, wanting to tell him, to share the burden. But she also wanted to keep it locked inside as much as she could, hide the darkness that would envelop her with the slightest trigger.

"Katniss?" He murmured again, his fingers sliding into the long strands of hair that trailed down her neck. "I want to help you."

Finally, as she watched the hovercraft lift up into the sky and shoot off into the distance, nothing but a thin trail of silvery pink smoke signalling its trajectory, she sighed. " _Marvel_ ," she said softly, and hoped he'd understand.

He did.

Without a word, he drew her into his arms, wrapped them tightly around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

"Yeah, me too."

“I didn’t even think.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so either.  But Caesar practically said his name, and it was like I was _there_ again, and I could smell everything and see everything and hear everything,” She mumbled into the collar of his shirt.

“But you’re not in there and you never have to worry about it again,” Peeta promised, smoothing his hand down the length of her hair to rest on the small of her back. She nodded silently, closed her eyes as she focused on the feeling of his fingers pressing lightly against the thin fabric of her dress.

"If you two are done making me sick out here, move along. I gotta go home and you're standing in my way." Haymitch's dry tones interrupted them, and they broke apart to see him studying them wryly. "Ain't enough I gotta see you snuggled up on a damn couch, now I gotta see this?" He smirked, and walked by them, but not without reaching out quickly, and squeezing Katniss's hand as he passed.

That was the most she was going to get from him, and considering it was Haymitch, she wouldn't complain.

"Oh," Haymitch drawled, turning slightly on the heel of his foot. "By the way, it's the lime you gotta look out for, boy." He waited until Peeta nodded, lips firming in a straight line, before he continued on his way.

"What was that about?" Katniss asked, glancing between the two men.

"Just a pie Effie was telling me about earlier," Peeta said blithely. But he pointed at his eye as discreetly as he could while he spoke, before glancing back at the house; it took her a moment to realise what he was implying.

_The guy with the mohawk had been the one installing the new surveillance._

"Anyway, he's right," Peeta said abruptly as they watched Haymitch continue to navigate his way across the street.

"He is?"

"Well...in the respect we shouldn't be out here.  It's too damn cold. Let's go back inside."

Katniss nodded, led him back inside into the hall where she could hear her mom and Prim chatting in the kitchen.  "Upstairs," she told him, not waiting for an answer. "I need to get all this crap off my face."

He followed her up, sat on the small chair that rested in front of an old-fashioned bureau as she went into the adjoined bathroom.  She scrubbed the layers of makeup from her face, as she ran a brush through her hair and re-braided it so that it hung in one long tail over her shoulder. A blush rose on her cheeks as she eyed the pyjamas that hung on the hook on the back of the door, and closed it before quickly exchanging the dress and tights for loose grey pants and a dark purple tank.

Opening the door, she stepped out; he looked up at her with a quiet smile on his face, and she couldn't stop herself. Taking the four steps it took to reach him, she pulled him to his feet, wrapped her arms around him tightly.  "Thank you," she said, pressing her face against the smooth fabric of his shirt.

"What for?"

"For being there today. For helping me through the interview." There was more she wanted to say, more she wanted to tell him, but with the new cameras, she couldn't risk it.

"I wouldn't have been anywhere else," he said honestly.

She leant back, her voice full of incredulity. "You mean you liked being interviewed?"

He screwed his nose up, and she liked the way it crinkled the skin around his eyes as a result. "Well...not really," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I'm, uh, sorry about some of those questions Caesar asked, about us and the future and whatever-"

Katniss heard the slight tremor in his voice, and to stop him speaking any further, lifted on her toes and pressed her lips to his. "Don't apologise for him," she murmured.

"But you-"

She kissed him again, softly. She didn't particularly want to think about those things right now, didn't want to think about the ideas Caesar had put in hers - and others - heads.

This time he didn't shy away, his lips gentle and warm against hers.  It felt like days since she'd kissed him - it probably was - and she was surprised at how much she'd missed his closeness. Her hands slid up his back, splayed against his shoulder blades, fingers digging in slightly. Peeta shifted his head, drew her bottom lip into his mouth before sliding his tongue over it gently.

It caused her heart to beat that much quicker, her hands to grip tighter, pulling him closer. Her lips parted greedily, and everything about the kiss intensified in an instant.  She drank him in, their tongues sliding against each other in lazy, sinuous strokes. Peeta's hands cupped the side of her head and he deepened the kiss, their mouths moving against each other eagerly, so that she wasn't sure when the last time she'd breathed was.

She didn't particularly care.

With an almost unrecognisable moan, Katniss pushed herself into him; with a soft thud his back hit the wall and she lined up against him, ankle to nose, and if she could have gotten any closer, she would have.  She felt his hips shift against hers, and her own jerked back in response.   _Oh._

She hadn't thought of _that_ , the way his body could react to hers, since that time outside in the woods, when she'd blindly kissed him, then believed he'd rejected her. It wasn't something she'd had any experience with beyond that, but she couldn't deny the way her own body reacted and the way she'd wanted to rock back against him.  The way she knew she wanted to do things with him she’d never, ever, thought of before.

With a start, Peeta pulled away, rested his forehead against hers. "We shouldn't," he whispered. "They’re watching."

"I don't care," she muttered back, barely believing the words falling from her mouth.

"I do," he said firmly, his voice still barely legible. "I don't want people to see this." He swallowed heavily, pressing his lips to the tip of her nose gently. "I don't want people to see _us_."

With an annoyed huff she drew away, but nodded. _She knew he was right, but it didn't make it any easier to take, especially not with the unexpected craving that filled her._

With an apologetic smile, Peeta took her hand, led her to the bed. "Let's just...talk, ok?"

_Talk? She'd talked all day._

"Fine," she murmured, laying down and dragging the thin knitted blanket from the foot of the bed over her. He sat beside her, his back against the bedframe, legs stretched out. His right foot continued to tap against the bed covers, and Katniss wondered if he was as wound up as she was.

After a day of nerves twisting her belly, it was almost kind of nice to have her stomach roiling with these feelings instead.

Out of nowhere he began to speak of the cheese buns that had been raised in the interview, about how they were one of his favourite things to make, and how he'd have to make them for her. She nodded against the pillow in agreement, and let him tell her about some of the other pastries and cakes and slices that his family made. Until his voice slurred, and slowed and eventually stopped.

Katniss glanced up at him, at his closed eyes and the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. He'd fallen asleep midsentence, but she didn't care - he looked peaceful and the slight bags under his eyes that had appeared over the last few days looked shades lighter than they had been.

Reaching over, she threaded her fingers through his, rested their joined hands on his chest. And wished that things could be simple.

_They would never be simple._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you, as always for reading. Your comments and kudos make my day.
> 
> Come and find me on tumblr - I'm there under sponsormusings as well :)


	10. Chapter 10

The non-descript black car slid up to the curb, its engine idling almost imperceptibly.  The ride had been smooth, efficient, and he’d forgotten how quickly it would take for him to travel from the station to home.  Tapping out the security code on his comm – a message from President Snow’s office had come through practically the moment he’d stepped off the train – Peeta powered it down and slid it into his pocket.  He absently glanced out the window to his building, already yearning for a 30 minute shower and a glass of something cold and alcoholic, when his jaw dropped at the sight of the people gathered on the sidewalk. There were well over 50 of them, and by the looks of the excitement on their faces at his arrival, _he_ was what they were waiting for.

Exchanging a glance with the driver, he reached for the handle, pushing the door open quickly. A swarm of photographers, of camera crews, of pushy reporters, descended on him, and he threw an arm up to cover his face at the flash of a bulb as he fought his way through to the buildings front door.

 _This wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting when he signed up for this_.

Peeta slid his access key into the slot, waited for the light beside it to turn green, and breathed a sigh of relief as it switched over, the door sliding open immediately.  He ignored the shouting of his name, and Katniss’, the salacious innuendos that followed, and leant against the door as it closed, the calm and quiet of the lobby inviting and welcome.

Hitching over his shoulder the single bag he’d grabbed as he’d left the train – the rest would be delivered later – he took the stairs up to his apartment, thankful that he at least lived in a small high-rise where he wouldn’t be bombarded right at his front door.  The same couldn’t be said for the bakery, though, and he vaguely wondered if his family were still being harangued.

He’d spent two more days in Twelve after the interview, fully aware he’d already spent long enough out in the District.  Plutarch would want to meet with him soon. And as evidenced by the promptly received message on his comm, Snow did as well. But each time he’d thought about leaving, a clenching in his gut begged him to postpone his return to the Capitol.

He knew, though, that now was not the time to plant roots in Twelve, no matter how much he wanted to.

Dropping his bag on the small sofa, he shrugged off the jacket he wore, toed off his shoes, leaving both where they fell. Curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt, he tugged it over his head, flung it onto a chair as he stepped into the small bedroom. He looked longingly at the perfectly made bed – a remnant of his childhood, before his mother had insisted they hire help - but knew he wanted the shower more.  If there was one thing he _had_ missed about the Capitol, it was their showers.  As nice as the one in the house in Victors Village had been, it had nothing on the state of the art version every home in the Capitol had.

Pressing the combination of buttons that gave him the shower he preferred – using 3 out of the 5 shower heads, medium spray, 85% heat and the scent of pine he’d begun using since he’d met Katniss – he stripped off and stepped under the pulsing water. Over a week’s worth of stress fell from his shoulders, a week’s worth of saying one thing to Katniss, another to Plutarch, another entirely to Snow.  A week’s worth of worrying about being watched, about changing holo feeds, about what could happen to Katniss if things didn’t work out the way they planned.

The water sluiced over his shoulders as he tried not to think about the summons he’d received from Snow’s office, demanding a meeting the following morning, and instead kept his focus on the mini-fridge in his kitchen, on the bottle of purple liquor that waited for him. He had tomorrow to worry about things.  Right now, he wanted nothing but to relax and pretend that he was simply waiting for Katniss to come home.  He figured it was the only way he was going to get through until the next time he saw her; especially if he had to face crowds like the one on the street below every time he left his home.

********

On the inside he was tugging on the collar of his stone grey jacket, loosening the knot on the thin orange tie around his neck, tapping his feet to a noiseless rhythm.  But to the slim lavender-haired assistant who sat at the desk across from him, her vermillion eyes occasionally glancing his way, he was stone still.

He was nervous, but Peeta didn’t want President Snow - _let alone his assistant_ \- to know he was.   _It was all about impressions_.

A slight buzzing sound came from the desk, and the woman tipped her head in the direction of the door.  He’d been here enough times now that she no longer escorted him, and instead he made his own way down the carpeted hall towards the office of the President.

Stepping inside the wide wooden doors, he noted Snow was already seated at his desk, a small china pot and two delicate cups placed in front of him, fragrant steam rising like smoke trails towards the ceiling. “President Snow,” Peeta greeted, waiting until he was directed towards the uncomfortable guest chair before taking a seat.

“Mr Mellark, so wonderful to see you.  I much appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.”   _He said it as though Peeta had had any say in the decision, but a directive was a directive._ He gestured towards the cups, and Peeta reached for one, clasping it in between his hands.  He didn’t feel like drinking it, but the air in the office was cold, almost chilling him to the bone.  Peeta wondered how the older man wasn’t shivering in his seat.

“It’s good to be back in the Capitol,” Peeta replied simply.

The smile didn’t reach the older man’s eyes.  “Ahhh, yes.  Such a different...place, out in those outlying districts.  It was a much longer stay for you this time than your first.  And for….pleasure, this time.” The slyness in his voice wasn’t hard to miss, and Peeta nodded, unsure what else to say.  “Tell me about your time in Twelve.”

With a nod, Peeta reiterated much of what he knew he had forwarded in his daily reports.  He’d had to be as transparent as possible with many things - the surveillance meant he couldn’t deviate very far from the truth - and peppered little slivers of interaction between himself and Katniss into the conversation.  He explained what had happened during the days following the whipping, and he ignored the glimmer of delight that showed in Snow’s eyes as he described Gale’s condition.  He kept his voice unaffected, almost robotic in its relaying of information.

When he finished, Snow smiled slightly, tugged on the cuffs of the gloves he wore.  “So...how _is_ Panem’s current victor?”

“Fine,” Peeta said, leaning back in his chair and trying to convey an air of ambivalence.  

“And your primary assignment isn’t proving to be too strenuous?”

Peeta shrugged, knowing he had to tread carefully - and lie through his teeth.  “She’s an enjoyable enough pastime.  Prickly and snarky, and plagued by doubt and nightmares, but easy enough on the eye for it not to be a hardship.”

“And you haven’t...grown attached to her?”

Peeta shook his head, sipped at his tea instead.  He found the words had stuck in his throat, and knew no cajoling would draw them from him.

Snow raised his elbows onto the desk, his fingers lacing in front of him.  “This is good to know.  I won’t lie to you, Mr Mellark, when I tell you I was concerned seeing some of the footage of the two of you together.  It seemed all too easy for you, and it plagued me that you may have fallen under her spell too.”

Peeta pursed his lips, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.  “Well, you _did_ want it to be convincing.  I’m just doing the job that was asked of me.”

The white-haired man studied him carefully, his eyes narrowed and dark.  Whatever he’d been looking for, he must have found, for after a moment he nodded.  “Of course you are right.  I just needed to be certain.”

“I assure you,” Peeta said.  “You need not be concerned.”

“Good.” Snow paused, let silence fill the room until it all but choked the breath from Peeta’s lungs.  “This is good news indeed, Mr Mellark, because I would have hated to have been wrong about you.  Tell me, what do you _really_ understand about Miss Everdeen?”

His heart turned painfully in his chest.  “I’m sorry?”

Snow waved away his own question.  “Never mind.  Regardless of what you could answer, I doubt it would match to what I am about to tell you.  Because I’m afraid, dear boy, that you may not be fully aware of what a threat she is to Panem, and to me, and to the very way of life you are accustomed to.”

Peeta knew his perception of Katniss was vastly different to that of the President, though it was something he could never fully express. Instead, he just shrugged. “I know why you asked me to do this,” he replied.  “To help stop the upheaval and possible rebellion in the outlying districts, to misdirect peoples attentions.”

“Well yes, of course that is correct.  But I don’t think you completely comprehend what I mean to say.”  Snow reached for the china cup, sipped lightly before placing it back on the table.  His eyes turned steely, and if the room could have gotten any colder, Peeta swore it did in that moment.  His voice was low, steady, and held all the threat Peeta imagined he’d used with Katniss at the mansion.  “I’m telling you this because I trust you, Mr Mellark, because I have faith in you.  And because I feel it is something you have the right to know.  Miss Everdeen is a threat to Panem and must be stopped.  I will do whatever it takes to prevent her from ruining everything.”

 _A threat to Panem?  Ruining everything?  Oh, if only President Snow knew.  That everything Katniss had inadvertently done, and would continue to do, would benefit the country so much_.  “So it’s more serious than you first advised?” Peeta ventured, allowing a hint of concern to enter his voice.

Snow chuckled mirthlessly.  “Oh yes, indeed it is.  I don’t show my cards to just anyone, Mr Mellark.  You had to earn my trust, and your words today, along with the reports you provided to us while you were in Twelve, have done so.  The vote of confidence I received from Plutarch Heavensbee did not go amiss either.”

Peeta’s eyebrows shot up in surprise because, in the grand scheme of things, he and Plutarch weren’t really meant to know each other well at all.

Snow continued as though he didn’t notice Peeta’s reaction, although he was certain he would have. “Your employer, Cressida, speaks very highly of you, and this, in turn, has made its way to Mr Heavensbee.  You’re aware that he is this years Head Gamemaker, and is someone I have a lot of trust in.  With my trust, comes intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the Capitol, and this is something I’m extending to you as well. People may just see you as a photographer, Mr Mellark, but I have higher hopes for you as an ally. You’ve proven yourself.”

“I…” Peeta trailed off.  “I never expected this.”

“I doubt you did.  The stability we’ve held across Panem since the Dark Days is something I don’t take lightly, and I refuse to let it fall under my watch.  Your commitment so far to our cause is respected, and very much appreciated. And you will continue to help me.   If, of course, you’re amenable to my...future plans.”

Peeta swallowed heavily, certain he didn’t like whatever Snow was insinuating.  But he did nothing but nod, a forced smile on his face.

“Of course, President Snow.  Whatever it takes.”

********

She’d snuck down to the Meadow before dawn, staring longingly at the woods beyond the fence until the first rays of the morning sun had filtered through the trees.  Katniss hadn’t been beyond the fence since before the tour, and since Gale’s whipping a month earlier, she’d been hesitant to even come into the Seam for more than a quick visit to the Hawthornes. But she’d woken with the aching need to be at least near the woods that had been her sanctuary for so long, and had tucked the new scarf her mother had made her around her neck, grabbed an apple and a cold chicken drumstick from the icebox and taken the long way around.

She watched as the yellow ribbons of light danced across her skin, listened as the birds continued to chitter and chirp amongst the branches, knew she didn’t have long before she needed to make her way back home.  But she just needed 5 minutes, _5 minutes more_ , and then she’d go home, probably to have another piano lesson with Madge. Not that it could even be considered a lesson when she simply sat on the floor and listened to Madge as her friend played as if she’d been born with the talent.

Running her fingers over the dewy grass, she at least appreciated the fact that the snow had finally gone.  It was still cool in the mornings – hence the scarf – but by mid-morning she knew both that and her jacket would be long gone.  Winter had dragged on forever, and the only respite had been Peeta here to distract her from the bitter cold, and her thoughts.  But he’d been gone for weeks, and the darkness that liked to play with her mind hovered around her constantly.

Stretching out her legs for a moment before rising, Katniss took one last glance towards the woods, towards the log she knew held her bow and arrows.  She missed them like she missed a limb, and she only wished she’d somehow had the foresight to retrieve them before the District was effectively shut down.

She detoured past the abandoned Hob – even after all these weeks, the unwritten rule that anyone trying to sell inside there would meet the same fate as Gale weighed heavily over the Seam.  She knew, after speaking with Hazelle, that those in the Seam were struggling. The delivery from the Capitol two days before had been full of spoiled food, and even what had been edible had been quickly snapped up by those in Town.  And now not even she and Gale could supplement the meagre supplies with their hunting, not when it was off-limits to them.

She wondered how long it would take before population numbers began to dwindle.

Ignoring the call of someone in the main square, she continued towards home, her eyes down and focused on the dirt path in front of her. She wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone at the moment - or ever, really, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she didn’t pay them any attention.  But she was forced to when a hand clamped down on her shoulder, and her breath stole from her body.

Whirling, and ready to give the person a piece of her mind, she stopped short when she saw it was Haymitch, eyes still gritty with sleep, a paper bag under his arm.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, wrapping her arms across her chest in the hopes it would stop her racing heart.  “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I called out to you,” he said bluntly.

“I was ignoring it.”

“I figured.” He yawned, scrubbed a hand across his face. “That’s why I scared the shit out of you.”

Katniss glared at him. “What are you doing out this early anyway?  I didn’t think you’d seen this time of day in the last decade.”

He shrugged, began to walk towards the path that led to the Village.  Katniss had no choice but to follow, as it was exactly where she’d been heading for too. He half pointed to the bag under his arm. “If I wanna get some of this, I gotta get it at the crack of dawn.  And I wanted it today.”

“Really?” she looked at him incredulously.  “With everything that’s going on, _that’s_ your priority?”

Haymitch scoffed.  “Whatever works, sweetheart.  You cuddle up to your little blonde prince, I cuddle up to some of Ripper’s finest.”

She grabbed him by the arm, pulled him to a stop. “She could get in trouble, Haymitch!  You saw what happened to Gale!”

He yanked his arm away, glared at her.  “I’ve been dealing with this longer that you’ve been alive,” he snapped.  “I know what I’m doing, and so does she.  I might not be as fast on my feet anymore, but hell, girl, I know how to navigate this district like the back of my hand. I don’t need you lecturing me.”

Katniss clenched her jaw, hated the fact that her throat closed with a lump the size of her fist.  “I...I don’t mean to.  I’m just worried, ok?  I don’t want anyone to get in trouble anymore.”

Haymitch sighed. “C’mon.  We don’t want to be standing around out here for much longer.”

He led them back to the village in silence, the only sound the scuffing of their shoes against the rocks beneath their feet. She followed him inside his house, barely managing to stop from wrinkling her nose against the stench of rotten food and stale air.

“Shit, Haymitch, it’s disgusting in here.  How can you live?” He shrugged, toed a couple of bottles out of the way as he made his way through to the kitchen. He went to sit, but she shook her head, headed straight out the back door.  “I’m not sitting in here, regardless of whether they can’t hear us.”

He snorted, but dutifully followed her out, then raised an eyebrow at her as she dropped to the ground, folding her legs in front of her. “You don’t expect me to sit down there, do you?”

“Stand if you want,” she replied dismissively.  “So what set you off this morning that you needed that so urgently?” Katniss gestured towards the bottle clutched in his hand.

“When don’t I need it?” Haymitch murmured, pulling a bottle from the bag and unscrewing the lid, not taking his eyes off her.  He raised it to his lips, took a pull before sighing, then grimaced as he bent his knees to lower himself to the grass. “I got a comm this morning.”

“From who?”

“Who do you think?  I’m not exchanging pleasantries with Snow, you know.”

She couldn’t help the jealousy that clenched in her stomach - she hadn’t heard from Peeta in a week, and here was Haymitch getting comms from him.  “That’s not fair,” she mumbled.  “I haven’t heard from him.”

Haymitch snorted. “Shit, Katniss, I didn’t get a love letter from your boyfriend.  It was from Plutarch.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.  Anyway, it told me the date for the Quell announcement.” Katniss felt the blood drain from her head.  She’d barely been back from the tour for two months, and they were already talking about this?   _There really was no escaping it.  Ever. _“And considering the only thing I hate more than the Games is a Quell, I kinda felt like a drink this morning.”

Haymitch finally looked up, and she could see the anger burning in his eyes.   _Of course. He’d been living with this for 25 years now, and it never got any easier_.

“It, um, didn’t say anything else?”

He shook his head.  “Nope.  They’re just keeping us informed.”

“So when is it?”

“Three weeks tomorrow.”

Katniss nodded, swallowed heavily.  “I need...I need to speak to Peeta before then.  And not on the phone in my house.”

“He not coming to visit again?  Not gonna grace us with his blue-eyed presence?”

“I thought you liked him,” Katniss snapped.  “You seem chummy with him whenever you speak rebellion shit.”

“I’m chummy enough with anyone when it comes to rebellion ‘shit’ as you call it,” He retorted, and rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  He’s a good enough kid.  I just like to yank your chain more than anything, and nothing does it like that boy.”

She scowled, folded her arms across her chest.  “The next time he told me he’d be out here is in a month.  Which is _after_ the Quell announcement.”

Haymitch took another pull from the bottle, stared back towards the house.  “Fine.  I’ll send a comm to Plutarch, see if I can organise it.  Just make sure I’m nowhere nearby when you’re making kissy noises at each other.”

“We will _not_ make kissy noises at each other,” Katniss huffed, and Haymitch laughed.

“Sure you won’t,” he replied. She glowered; he simply chuckled around the mouth of the bottle as he raised it to his lips.

And even though she knew what he was doing - making fun of her to take both of their minds of the impending announcement - she didn’t acknowledge it.  It was better this way.  Between them, some things were better left unsaid.

Not saying something was an art they both excelled at.

********

The crowd was small tonight - a half dozen tables occupied, a couple of people propped up on the stools beside the fluorescent bar. The holo screen at the end of the room was showing a soap opera that no one cared about.  No one paid attention to him anymore, not since he was with Katniss.  Now he fit in.  He was one of them. _He was part of the Capitol elite._

None of that mattered.  The only thing that did, and the only person he’d come to see was already here, making his way over to the usual table Peeta had snared in the corner, two mugs of frothy amber ale in two large jugs.

“Bloody hell, Finn, are we drinking them out of house and home?” Peeta commented as Finnick dumped the two glasses on the wooden table-top.

“Figured we deserved it,” the bronze-haired man returned with a smile.  “It’s been too long since we saw each other.”

“It was only on the tour,” Peeta reminded him, swiping his finger across some of the condensation that had collected around the glass.

“Exactly.  Too long,” Finnick reiterated, and drank greedily.  He leant back in his seat, and sighed as he lowered the mug from his lips.  He was oblivious to the women who were eyeing his every move from the bar, but Peeta wasn’t.  Their lascivious gazes were hard to miss. “But lucky I was in town this weekend, hey?”

Peeta’s smile dimmed, knowing exactly why Finnick was in town.  “Lucky indeed.  And what exciting things have happened in the life of Finnick since I saw him last?” he asked quickly, before he could dwell on it for too long.

Finnick chuckled, told him of a party he’d been to the night before, how a man had gotten so drunk he’d run naked through a street in the Garment District.  Of the small birthday gathering he’d attended back in Four a week ago, a simple gathering of Mags’ family for her granddaughters fifth birthday. Peeta could tell by the tone in his voice what event Finnick had preferred, and it had been a long way from the Capitol.

“How _is_ Mags going?”

“Better every day,” Finnick grinned.  “I know you didn’t get to see her during the tour, but she improves every day.  She still isn’t speaking, but I can talk enough for the two of us.”

“No doubt,” Peeta laughed.  He picked up the mug, sipping from it slowly.  “And Annie?  How is she?”

“She’s good,” Finnick said simply.  “The more she’s left alone, the better she is.”

“Has she…” he couldn’t finish the question.

Finnick shook his head.  “No.  Not for a long time. The last time...the last time she cried all the way through it, and the man demanded a refund.  Snow banished her to Four, with the stipulation she mentor in the next games.” Finnick’s eyes dropped to the ground.  “I don’t know if that’s much better for her.”

Peeta nodded, hating himself for bringing it up - but it was all he could think about. “I’m sorry, Finn.  I know it’s hard for you to talk about, but-”

“You want to know if there’s any word about Katniss,” he interrupted knowingly.

Peeta flushed.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Finnick sighed.  “I know I’d be worried too.  But at this stage, you don’t have to be.  I haven’t heard a thing.”

Peeta’s mouth dropped open in shock.  He’d wanted to meet with Finnick while he was in the Capitol for multiple reasons - to take him to a rebellion meeting, to genuinely catch up as friends, but also to find out if Finnick had heard anything of Katniss being put into rotation to be sold.  Finnick had been doing it long enough now to know who was being drafted in, and when, and Peeta lived on tenterhooks every day; especially after his meeting with Snow a few weeks earlier.  He could only assume that the references to ‘stopping’ Katniss were to break her, and selling her was the only way he could see Snow being able to achieve that.  It gutted him that whatever he’d done on the tour, and afterwards - and would _still_ continue to do - wouldn’t matter one bit, that her body would be given out to the highest bidder.  But if what Finnick was saying was true…

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Finnick confirmed.  “This month, the only ones for sure that I know are active are Cashmere from One, Electra from Three, Olin from Six and Johanna from Seven.  And me, of course.”

“But no Katniss,” Peeta breathed.

“No Katniss,” he reiterated.  “What makes you so certain I was going to say she was?”

“Just...I just think Snow is planning something, and that was the only logical answer. But if that’s not it…”

“Maybe there isn’t anything,” Finnick said gently.  “Maybe she’ll be lucky enough to avoid it.”

“Maybe,” Peeta acquiesced, though the pit in his stomach made him sure, _absolutely sure_ , that he had something to worry about.  He just wasn’t sure of what it was yet.

“Anyway,” Finnick grinned, knowing they were both desperate to change the topic.  “Tell me how your mother responded to the interview you did with Katniss.  I’m sure she absolutely _loved_ it.”

********

The screen was fuzzy, static a faint hum as the connection was made.  She knew it wouldn’t be immediate - Haymitch had warned her that because of the precautions Plutarch and his team took, they re-routed the signal a dozen times before they would allow anything to connect.  So while she waited, Katniss rested her head against the back of the metal balustrade, glanced up at the roof of the rotunda.  There were a few holes here and there - time and neglect had ensured that it would never be in the condition it had once been - and slivers of sunlight slipped through, piercing the concrete ground like coloured buttons. She kept her eyes on them while she waited for the connection to finalise, studying their faint shifting as leaves overhead waved atop the roof.

“Katniss?”

The voice was tinny, and sounded miles away, but it was _him_.  She sat up straight, held the comm in front of her face.  Sure enough, Peeta smiled back at her, a plain white wall behind him.

“Hey,” she replied quickly, a blush rising on her cheeks.  “Thanks...thanks for this.”

“Thank _you_.  If only I’d thought of using Haymitch's comm myself, I would have done it weeks ago. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve-I’ve missed you too,” Katniss said hesitantly.  Sometimes the words she wanted to say the most were still the hardest for her to utter - or even admit to.

“Is everything ok?”

“It’s fine.  I just wanted to speak with you before…”

“Before?”

“The announcement.”

“Ahhh.”  Realisation dawned on his face, and he glanced off to his left.  He was quiet for a moment before continuing. “Sorry.  I’m in one of the rebellion meeting houses, and someone walked past.”

“That’s ok.”

“So you know it’s happening, huh?”

“Plutarch got word to Haymitch last week. Is it normally announced this early?  I asked Haymitch, but he didn’t know.  Said back when the last one happened, time wasn’t really something he kept track of.”

Peeta nodded.  “Yeah, from what Plutarch told me, it’s normally around now that they announce it.”

“Are you - is he - does he know what’s happening?”

“Not as far as I know,” Peeta said.  “I know he’s been plenty busy with planning meetings and going out to the arena site, but he said the Quell itself comes from the cards.”

“The cards,” Katniss repeated, vaguely remembering a small box and a card with the number 50 on it in Haymitch’s video.  

“Yeah.  How they determine the Tributes…” he trailed off, his brow furrowed with concern.  “Hey, Katniss.  We don’t have to talk about this right now. I don’t want it to upset you.”

“I know,” she said softly.  She rolled her shoulders, sat up even straighter.  “Will you tell me about your return to the Capitol?  How was your family?”

He grimaced at the mention of his family, but he obliged, telling her about how his mother had told him she was thrilled at the mention of _Mellark’s_ in the interview, and then immediately turned around and criticised him on his lack of style. His brothers had been surprisingly more welcoming, and had invited him out with them to a Capitol club, but after 20 minutes, he’d confirmed exactly 300 reasons why he hated the social scene here.

He told her how he’d seen Finnick – _she tried hard not grimace herself, she still wasn’t 100% sold on the charismatic man_ \- and how since his return, he’d photographed President Snow’s granddaughter for her yearly portrait.

She brushed off his questions about her, not wanting to tell him how sleep eluded her, how the meadow felt like her only respite, how the thought of the Quell announcement made her sick to the stomach.

Instead, she simply told him that Gale was doing well, that Haymitch was drunker than usual, that she worried that Prim was reading Capitol novels not appropriate to her age.

Peeta laughed at that one, then harder as she scowled at him.

“I won’t tell you anything if you laugh at me,” she huffed.

“Oh Katniss, you’re so pure,” he chuckled, and her mouth dropped open, her eyes flared.

“I am _not_ ,” she hissed. _The thoughts she’d had of Peeta that last night he’d been here was testament to that._

“It’s not a bad thing,” he told her seriously, though a smile still tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“How would _you_ like being told you’re pure?” she retorted.

“It wouldn’t bother me at all,” Peeta replied.  “In the Capitol, everything is so tainted, seeing something pure is a relief.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then found she didn’t have a reply to that.

“And anyway,” he continued softly, “I like that about you.  I like _everything_ about you, Katniss.  Trust me.”

She blew out a deep breath, still not placated, but she wasn’t going to waste their last minute - _the last twenty minutes had gone so quickly_ \- being pissy with him.

“Ok.  I guess I have to go, head to Madge’s, where I’m supposed to be.”

“Alright,” Peeta said.  “I’ll speak to you soon?”

“You’ll be here in just over a week. You’ll _see_ me soon.”

“True,” he smiled. “And I can’t wait.  I really, _really_ need to see you.”

The tone of his voice - what he said, how he said it - sent a shiver down her spine, and knew she really needed to see him too.

“Me too,” she told him.

“And Katniss?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to spend time together in that rotunda.  Alone.”

Her stomach clenched as she nodded wordlessly.

5 minutes later, after saying their goodbyes, and ending the connection, she was still staring blankly at the screen, wondering how he continued to have the same effect on her, even from thousands of miles away.

********

It arrived on his doorstep, hand delivered by a man in a deceptively simple black suit. Peeta knew the moment he slipped his finger under the flap of the envelope, sliding the thick, creamy card into his hand, that it wasn’t good. Holding his breath, he read the elegant black script.

_Mr Mellark,_

_President Snow requests your attendance at this afternoon’s Quarter Quell announcement.  You have been provided admittance to the anti-chamber behind the Grand Balcony of the Parade Hall.  Please ensure that you arrive 30 minutes prior to the events proceedings._

_He eagerly looks forward to your response to today’s announcement._

_With favour,_

_Augustus Faulkner_

_Secretary to President Snow_

The fear that coated Peeta’s throat and lined his stomach was real.

********

"Katniss, hurry up!  It's about to start!"

"I don't care, Prim!"

"You _have_ to care!  This one is mandatory, remember?!"

Katniss sighed, placed the knife she had gripped tightly in her hand back onto the counter.  She knew it was mandatory - _how could she forget?_ \- but she'd hoped if she'd volunteered to cook dinner, they'd simply forget about her, she would be left alone in the kitchen, and not have to worry about the stupid reading of the card.  Right now, she wasn't in the mood to be reminded of her future duty in the Capitol.

But she knew they could see her, would know straight away that she hadn't watched.  And ultimately she didn't have a choice.

Wiping her hands on the dishrag hanging from a hook on the wall, she moved down the hall, dropped unceremoniously onto the sofa beside her sister.  Prim continued to smooth her hand over the mangy fur of Buttercup, who lazed on Prim's skirt as though he owned it, while their mother diligently worked two long needles together, wool the colour of raspberries twisted over her lap. The holoscreen covered the entire wall above their fireplace, unlit since Peeta's visit, the Capitol seal shining and flickering over its cream backdrop.

Picking up a book from the side table - she still didn't know who'd been reading it, only that by the looks of the entwined man and woman on the cover, she continued to hope it wasn't Prim - she flicked through the pages, idly focusing on them instead of the pomp and pageantry that came to life on the screen.  She ignored the voice of Caesar, of Claudius Templesmith, fought to stop herself from screwing her nose up when they announced the arrival of President Snow.

He walked out onto the stage, followed closely by a small boy, a wooden box held reverently in his hands. Snow – dressed head to toe in the colour his name represented so well – smiled out at the crowd, though it was cold and almost smug.

She wondered how he managed to have the entire Capitol impervious to his real demeanour.

The book now abandoned on her lap, the anthem began, and it closed Katniss' throat like a vice, taking her back to the Capitol, to the training centre, to the arena. She focused on her breathing – in, out, in, out – slow deep breaths that helped to calm herself.  The moment the anthem drew to a close, President Snow stepped forward, raising his hands to the crowd in welcome.  "Citizens of Panem," President Snow began, his voice so clear through the sound system that Katniss could almost swear he was in the same room as her.  He spoke of the Dark Days, of the history of the games, needlessly reminding those watching of what the Quarter Quell meant, why it occurred every 25 years. He reminded them of what had happened during the 25th Games, and the 50th, and it made Katniss' blood run cold to remember the vision she'd studied of Haymitch, the way she'd watched Madge's aunt die.

She heard her mother whimper, drew her eyes away from the screen long enough to see Alice bite her lip hard enough to draw blood, to see her chin quiver. But Katniss didn't even get a moment to question her mother before President Snow's voice rang out again.

"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," he announced, indicating for the young boy to bring the wooden box - lined with row after row of yellowed envelopes - closer to him.  Plucking one clearly marked with '75' from the box, he slid open the flap and pulled the aged parchment from its sleeve.  He cleared his throat, and if Katniss imagined the slight smirk on his face, it was gone in an instant. "On the seventy fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest amongst them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

The broken sob from her mother pierced Katniss ears, Prim's more subtle cry hurt her heart.  But she was frozen, her entire body and mind at a standstill. She knew as well as anyone that there were only two remaining victors in District Twelve - Haymitch and...herself. What did that even mean? How could they-

She pulled herself off the sofa, the book falling to the floor with a thud, and was out the front door before reality had even set in.

********

_"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."_

The words echoed in Peeta's head even while he kept his eyes glued to the holo he was watching in the small room just behind the grand balcony.

_"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."_

"Peeta, I'm so sorry.”  A man was suddenly in front of him, extending a hand in sympathy.  Peeta shook his head as though to clear it, peering at the man he’d never met before in his life.

"What? I apologise, I didn't hear you."

"Of course - it must be such a blow for you, your mind must be reeling!  After only just meeting her...."

"Meeting her?"

"Katniss, of course.  After everything - her games, her tour, the way you found each other. Now, with this Quell, oh just how simply _awful_."

And suddenly it all made sense.  Snow's conversation with him when he first returned from Twelve, testing the waters of his allegiance to the Capitol.  Finnick not hearing of a single word about the possibility of Katniss being sold. The card he’d received that morning, telling him that Snow was interested in seeing Peeta’s response to the Quell.

_President Snow wasn’t just interested in ruining Katniss Everdeen - he wanted her eliminated.  And he’d somehow done it in the most abominable way possible, with the entire country none the wiser._

Without even bothering to finish speaking with the man beside him, he strode over to Snow, who had just walked through the curtained doorway that led to the balcony.  The smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again, much like it had earlier.

"My deepest sympathies, Mr Mellark," Snow greeted.  "Such a shame, Miss Everdeen having to enter the arena again, and so soon too."

_"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."_

"It is," Peeta agreed, through a throat that was thick with tears he needed to hold back.

"I suppose at least you had those few months together, yes?"

"Yes," Peeta echoed. He glanced around him, noticed that none of the advisors who had stood on the balcony with Snow had come in close.  They must have been doing it out of sympathy, allowing the President to express his condolences semi-privately. He knew the moment Snow noticed it too, all pretence falling from his voice.  

"I'm certain this announcement will have pleased you, Mr Mellark. A way to end your relationship with Miss Everdeen, and not have to worry about the ugliness of a split. Such an easy way to end it, don't you think?” Peeta's eyebrows drew together in confusion, and President Snow chuckled. "Ah, you did not think I expected you to maintain this charade forever, did you? Hardly. You've done well - you've played the part of her doting lover admirably.  But with this, Miss Everdeen is out of our hair, you garner the sympathy of the entire nation, and you get your life back.  No one gets hurt, no one gets the blame, any rebellion that was growing will be crushed with grief, and Panem can be returned to normal." President Snow was staring at him intently, waiting for his response, his answer, and Peeta knew it had to be the right one if he had any hope of maintaining his cover.

_"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."_

"Of course, President Snow.  A perfect way.  I couldn't have hoped for a better resolution myself." He felt everything inside him splinter into a thousand pieces.

At the wide, all-encompassing smile on the President's face, Peeta knew he'd answered correctly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - And with this, act two of this story begins. Thank you for reading, for the comments and kudos. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Part of this chapter was quoted directly from Catching Fire. That text is credited to the wonderful Suzanne Collins, who gave us these characters to play with.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I participated in Prompts in Panem on tumblr, and it took up most of my writing time over the last few weeks! You can find them all on here as well, if you're interested.
> 
> This chapter is for two lovely ladies whose birthdays have either just passed or are imminent - kaceywithak and oywiththepeetaalready. XO
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Her hand scraped along the trees that lined the street as she ran, the rough bark breaking open her skin, her palm blooming red. It didn't matter. She wanted to feel something, anything, other than the terror that weighed on her shoulders.

_She was going back into the arena._

Katniss kept running, her feet sliding on the wet and soggy ground until she fell to her knees, gasping desperately, trying to suck air into her lungs, trying to breathe. Every inhalation of breath felt like a thousand knives to her throat, her heart beating out a rhythm so erratic and frantic she worried it would wear itself out completely.

_But at least then she'd be dead, and she wouldn't have to worry about the games._

Damp mud soaked into the fabric of her pants, stuck to her bloodied palms.  She'd run out into the village with little thought or plan of what she was doing, where she was going. But she needed to get away, couldn't bear to see the tears, the sadness, the horror that had immediately filled Prim's eyes, her mother's eyes.

But she also couldn't stay out here.

She dragged herself to the end of the street, towards an empty victor house that skirted the edge of the village. The front door wouldn't budge under her weight, but the glass window beside it cracked easily under a fisted hand already streaked with blood. She crawled through the window, curled up in a ball on the floor, the cold and dust seeping into her bones. She didn't care.

_She and Haymitch were going to die._

********

He'd had to remain calm, put the carefully cultivated mask on, hide behind it while he got out of the centre of town, down towards the café. He nodded his head in thanks when people called out their condolences, waved in response when they held their hand up. But on the inside he was furious, a ball of anger and shock and fear. He refused to accept that he was going to lose her, that he'd only just found her to have her turned right back over to the man whose sole intention was to kill her. And right now, there was only one person he could take his frustration out on.

Peeta stormed inside, stalked straight through to the store room before activating the discreet panel and slipping through. He waited impatiently for the body scanner to complete its task, and pushed his way through the door before it had swung open fully; he strode over to Plutarch, arm swinging before he could even think twice about what he was doing. Plutarch took the slug to the jaw without even defending himself, sprawling on the floor in a heavy heap.

"For fucks sake, Peeta!" Cressida yelled, bending down to help Plutarch to his feet. The man was holding his jaw, wincing. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He has a right," Plutarch mumbled, hushing her with a single look.

"You _knew_!" Peeta hissed, his hands still clenched into fists by his side. "You would've had to have known, and you still sent me to Katniss knowing Snow was going to do this! What kind of man _are_ you?!" He whirled, scowled at the others who stood, shell-shocked, around the dimly lit back room of the café. "Stop looking at me!"

They unfroze, scurried about, away from the fray.

It wasn't the first time things had gotten heated between rebellion members, but it was certainly the first time Plutarch or Peeta had ever been involved.

"Peeta, you need to calm down and listen to me," Plutarch placated, accepting the small syringe Cressida offered him. He plunged it into his jawline, the swelling reducing immediately, a look of relief crossing his face.

"I don't need to do _anything_ except demand answers," Peeta snapped. "How long have you known?  How long have you known Snow was planning this?" He could feel a vein pulsing in his cheek, and he took a deep breath, exhaled sharply through his nose.

"I've known for 4 weeks, that's all," Plutarch admitted. "Long after we implemented your role, long after your connection with Katniss began." Peeta watched as Plutarch swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing against the striped cravat around his throat. "But I...I gave him the idea."

Peeta's eyes widened, and he took a step back before he raised his fist again. "You _gave_ Snow the idea? You willingly suggested to him - our enemy - to send Katniss back into the arena? And Haymitch, and who the hell else?!"

The Gamemaker shook his head. "Peeta, no. You need to understand, you... This is something I've been mulling over for a long time. There really isn't anything else we can do. It's our only option to make a statement, to have the legitimate approvals for the use of a hovercraft, to publicly show Panem that change is here."

"So you use the death of your catalyst, your Mockingjay, to start it all?" Peeta spat. "You disgust me."

Plutarch sighed, lowered himself into a chair. Cressida watched them both warily from a safe distance, her arms folded across her chest. "Peeta, our plan is to rescue them from the Arena. Katniss, Haymitch, if there are any other allies who are reaped. We'll save them, bring them out, in our most public display of rebellion yet." He looked up at Peeta solemnly.  "I have no intention of letting them die."

Peeta opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Wh-why would you go to all that effort just to pull them out again?"

Plutarch spread his hands in front of him. "Think about it. We start hiding our allies one by one, it's suspicious and a trail begins. Distract the entire country with possibly the most devastating games ever, then move them all out in one go, in orchestrated maneuvers across Panem with the ultimate in the arena itself? Not only are we away clean, but _everyone_ in the nation knows what's happened, they'll know that something big is happening.  Every person who wishes they'd stood up and faced the Capitol but never did will seize their chance. This is the best way. And I promise - _I promise_ \- she won't die."

Peeta dropped into the chair beside Plutarch, the fight draining from him. The adrenalin he'd been riding on dissipated like smoke. "Why...why didn't you say anything?"

"I couldn’t afford to, Peeta. Snow needed a reaction from you, and it needed to be as genuine as possible - well, as genuine as it could be, considering the circumstances.  You’re already playing a double role, as dangerous as it is. I couldn't afford you knowing that intel. Even now it’s dangerous, knowing how much Snow is likely to be watching you now until the games begin."

"And you?" Peeta turned his gaze on Cressida, his eyes steely. "Did you know?"

"Only at the same time you did," she said quietly.

"This was strictly between myself and Snow," Plutarch promised, drawing Peeta's attention back to him. "He needed to keep it as quiet as I did because he can't afford for knowledge like that to get out either. The more people that know the truth, the riskier it becomes."

Peeta dropped his head in his hands, gripped his hair in his fingers. His mind whirled with what Plutarch had told him, and knowing that the ante had upped itself so much with this development. "But how can you be so sure she won't die? How can you know?"

"If anyone can do it, it's me," Plutarch said confidently, and Peeta twisted his head slightly to look into the older man's calculating eyes. "I am Head Gamemaker, after all."

********

Katniss wiped her palm across her cheek, drying the last of her tears. She didn't know how long she'd been here, only that the thin strip of light from the sun that snuck through the old drapes was a deep, muted orange. Hours had probably passed, wasted away on a cold wooden floor. Not that it mattered.  Time couldn't change a thing.

She rolled onto her back, stared at the ceiling, her eyes wide and unfocused. She wasn't sure she could cry anymore, wasn't sure if there was enough left inside her to get up, to move, to get out of her place of refuge that now felt like a damp tomb. Right now, she couldn't think about anything except the announcement. Another arena. What it would mean for her mom, and Prim. Her own impending death. Haymitch’s-

Here she was, worrying about herself, Prim, her mother...and she'd forgotten the one other person who was guaranteed to step into that arena with her. He was probably half drunk to stupid right now, and she didn't blame him. The idea of devouring some of Haymitch's liquor - to forget, to cloud her brain, to numb the senses - appealed to her a little too much.

Scrambling to her feet and climbing back out the window, she ran down the street to his house, clambered up his porch steps. She twisted the front doorknob - _he'd refused the fancy Capitol security locks a long time ago_ \- and pushed the door open with a thud. She kicked aside a couple of empty bottles lining the wall, the musical tinkling of the glass hitting wood like an insult to her ears, and stepped into his parlour.

Haymitch was sprawled on the couch, his lips wrapped around the head of a bottle, staring blankly into space. Liquid had left a dripping stain on the wall where she knew his screen would normally light up, the projector stand smashed into smithereens on the floor beside him.

He'd obviously taken the news as well as she had.

Tipping his chin up, his murky eyes meeting hers, he allowed the bottle to fall from his lips with a pop. "Come to wallow in misery with me?" He said lazily. He eyed her bleeding palm, but didn't mention it.

"I came for a drink," she snapped. "That alright with you?" She couldn't help it, even though she knew he was hurting too. Defensiveness was for the best, right? They were going to die anyway.

Haymitch smirked, then reached down to beside the sofa where 2 unopened bottles rested. He twisted the lid off one, then handed it to her. "Bottoms up, sweetheart," he toasted, taking another slug of his own.

She raised the bottle to her lips, could practically feel the fumes from it waft across her face before she'd even attempted a gulp.

It burned like acid down her throat, setting her stomach on fire.

Katniss sputtered, choked, her chest heaving from the potency of it. Haymitch did nothing but laugh, and tipped his bottle in her direction. "You'll get used to it. Trust me."

Glaring at him, she dropped into an over-stuffed armchair and resolutely took another swallow. It wasn't as harsh this time, and though it still burned, she followed it quickly with another. And another. It wasn’t so bad.

"Steady, girl. I ain't carrying you home," Haymitch warned, pushing his hair out of his eyes to watch her more carefully.

"I wouldn't ask you to," she retorted sharply.

"Don't snap at me. I'm just as much a victim here as you." He shook his head, dropped his chin so it rested on his chest.  He sighed, deep and heavy and tired. "Happy fucking anniversary to me."

She didn't say anything to that, couldn't say anything - her throat closed every time words threatened to spill out. So instead she raised the bottle to her lips again.

They drank in silence, the only sound the swishing of liquid and the occasional belch from Haymitch. Her tongue began to feel numb, her chest loosened, her head felt like it was too big for her body. The slowly dulling edges made her think Haymitch may have had the right idea all along, drowning his memories and his fears in liquor and sleep.

"Ya think he knew?" She finally slurred, breaking the silence, not even recognising her own voice.

"Eh?" Haymitch barely lifted his gaze.

"Peetha. Ya think he knew? ‘Bout this?"

He sighed, reached over and yanked the half empty bottle out of her hands. "You don't need anymore than that," he sighed. "Bloody hell, listen to you."

"Don't matter," she replied, her lip curling.

He glanced at her again before twisting himself up so he was sitting straight, with his arm flung across the back of the sofa. "Look, I don't know if the kid knew. You can only ask him."

"Yeah but hatsh do you _think_?" She emphasised, brushing impatiently at a long strand of hair that had snuck across her face. She wasn't even sure how her hair had gotten that long. Had it always been that long? Had it-

"No." Haymitch's firm answer broke her out of her ruminations, and she looked at him with dazed eyes. "The kid was in too deep with you. They'd never tell him."

"You shure?"

"I'm never sure of anything anymore. But it's the best I got." He set his jaw, shook his head. "Fuck," he murmured, more to himself than her. "I can't believe this is happening."

Neither could she. And the thought terrified her.

She leant forward and vomited every last drop of liquor onto the hardwood floor.

********

The hand was light across her forehead, tucked her hair behind her ear. Katniss leant into it, the warmth and softness of it; it was small, and delicate, and she knew without opening her eyes that it was Prim.

"Katniss?" Her voice was soft, tentative. With a small murmur, Katniss opened her eyes, looked up into the worried face of her sister. "Are you alright? You slept all day again."

Katniss swallowed heavily, hated the constant concern that seemed to emanate from Prim and her mother. But sometimes it was as hard as hell to drag herself down the stairs, let alone out of bed. Today was one of those days, where her dreams had become nightmares and, upon waking, had become real.

"Sorry, little duck," she whispered around a voice hoarse with sleep. "I just..."

"It's ok." Prim twisted herself around so that she was sitting beside Katniss, her legs stretched out in front of her, her hand continuing to drift gently down Katniss's hair. "Do you want me to bring you some food? Mom did some stew and we’ve got some bread I picked up at the bakery.”

Katniss opened her mouth to say no, but then nodded, smiling softly. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it didn’t matter.

“You know...you know you can talk to me, Kat,” Prim said quietly, not making an effort to move. “I know it’s been hard, with everything you’ve gone through and now this. I know you try and shield Mom and I from it, and I know Peeta was helping you on the tour, and while he was visiting. But I just need you to know you’re not on your own. We’re here for you.”

Her throat clenched at the mention of Peeta – other than one short comm where he’d sounded stilted and awkward as he’d expressed his dismay over the announcement, he'd been conspicuously absent all week. It was affecting her more than she thought it ever could. “I know, Prim. Thank you,” she replied. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know we’re here for you.” She dropped her head to Katniss’s shoulder, lowered her voice so it was little more than a whisper. “And I think a lot of other people are too.”

Katniss turned her head, looked over at her sister. “What do you mean?”

“Things are different, Kat. You can see it, you can feel it. And I think it’s because of you.”

Katniss bit her lip, lowered her gaze. “I’m not doing anything. And whatever I do anyway is you for you and Mom.” She looked back up again, her eyes filled with an intensity she hadn’t felt in days. “You have to always remember that, Prim. Everything I do is for _you_. Always.”

“I know.” She leant over, pressed a small kiss to Katniss’ forehead. “But you’re also doing it for you, too, Kat. And that isn’t a bad thing.” She smiled gently before rising from the bed and walking quietly from the room, Katniss staring after her in surprise.

Somehow, over the last 4 days, while Katniss lay in bed, staring at the wall and sobbing about her misfortune and the fact that Peeta seemed to have deserted her, Prim had grown up beyond recognition.

She’d had no chance of remaining strong in front of them after her stint at Haymitch’s. He’d carried her across the street, skin a pale green and the stench of vomit lingering on her breath. Her mother had taken one look at her and firmly told him to place her in the downstairs bath, and amid another bout of sickness, Alice Everdeen had bathed her daughter, hummed under her breath to her until Katniss’s eyes had fluttered closed and her heart had ached with unshed tears. Even the strides her mother had made since Katniss’s return from the games had been nothing compared to that moment of comfort. And it had filled her with a hope that no matter what happened to her, her mother and Prim were strong enough to survive.

********

Two days later Peeta stepped from the train, one lone bag slung over his shoulder. He’d packed light this time, didn’t care about the perception of him traveling with so little. He had more important things to worry about than what people thought about him anymore, though Plutarch had said it was perfect regardless - a man so in love, so desperate to see the woman who had captured his heart, that a suitcase would be the last thing on his mind.

Plutarch’s comment had almost been enough to make him sick, but whatever tale he wanted to spin, he could. He just wanted to see Katniss, that was all there was to it.

He’d bided his time, waited for the original train he’d planned on taking to Twelve before the Quell announcement was even a thought. As much as he’d wanted to see Katniss, it gave him the time to find out the basics of the plan Plutarch was beginning to piece together. Plus, he hadn’t wanted to give Snow any reason to look at him twice, and hopping immediately on a train would raise suspicions about how true his feelings were for Katniss. For this to work, he still needed Snow believing it was all for show, that it wasn’t real.

He hated it.

Peeta spied Haymitch lingering at the edge of the platform, tipped his head in acknowledgement as he made his way over to him. “Haymitch,” he greeted. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

“Kid,” was all he got in return, before the weary looking mentor turned on his heel towards the Village.

Peeta walked beside him quietly, keeping his head down and turned away from the looks they were given by others walking through the town. Many held pity, a distinct contrast to the last time he’d walked away from the train station. Others held a wide berth, still viewing him as part of the Capitol, part of the machine that were going to take their two victors away. He waited until they were far enough out of town before speaking, checking over his shoulder to ensure no one was close by. “How you doing?”

“Been drunk most of the week,” Haymitch said bluntly. “Reading these stupid missives from Heavensbee about his ridiculous plan to save our asses. Coulda knocked me over with a feather when I got the first one telling me what was happening.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Peeta told him. “It’s insane, and involved, and could possibly fail, but it has merit. And I’ll do whatever it damn well takes regardless.”

“Yeah, for your girl,” Haymitch retorted.

“For all of you. Whatever allies are reaped, I’m doing it for them.”

Haymitch stopped, folded his arms across his chest, eyed Peeta carefully. “You really are in it for the greater good, aren’t you? Not just Katniss.”

“You know my story by now. I was in the rebellion long before I met Katniss, long before I even knew who she was.”

Haymitch sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face. “What can you tell me that I don’t already know?”

“Not much,” Peeta admitted. “Talks between Gamemakers are top secret, and Plutarch has been hesitant to share anything with anyone until the arena is complete. Minimises risk of leaks, of questions being answered. But I do know...”

“Know what?”

Peeta cleared his throat. “They don’t want Katniss to know any specifics about the rescue mission.” His hands fisted at his sides - he didn’t agree with the decision at all, but the less people that knew the plan, Cressida had said bluntly, the better. And that’s all there was to it. He had no say in the matter.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. “I already knew that - the comms I got made that pretty clear. I’m disappointed, but I’m not surprised...Sweetheart’s not exactly the best at keeping her thoughts under wraps.”

“That’s exactly what Plutarch said,” Peeta nodded. “They can’t risk her knowing too much, apparently.”

“So then what do we tell her?”

Peeta hitched his bag higher on his shoulder. “We tell her the rebellion is working on something, without being too specific. We just need to give her some hope, Haymitch.”

Haymitch snorted. “You think she’ll accept that?”

“I don’t know. But we have to give her something. And in the meantime, she can focus on training, becoming the best she can be, to match it with those other victors. Give her the belief that she can come back out to Prim, to her mom, to Madge and the rest of her family, regardless of what the rebellion does.”

“And to come back to you,” Haymitch surmised.

“If she allows it.” He looked up at Haymitch, his eyes pleading. “I know she's going to be angry with me that I haven’t really contacted her this week. That one comm wasn’t nearly enough."

"No shit," Haymitch snorted. "If she ain't been crying about the games it's been you abandoning her. Blondie’s been worrying to me about it all week."

Peeta felt his heart pitch - this was another reason he hated what he was doing. Every time he did something to maintain his cover, he would be hurting Katniss. Not because he wanted to. But because that's what it took to convince Snow. "I'm just doing-"

"What you have to, blah blah, I know. It doesn't mean she has to like it."

He nodded, swallowing heavily. "You need to help me help her. I can’t do this on my own, especially if she's angry with me.”

Haymitch cleared his throat, turned on his heel and began the rest of the walk to the village. “I’m her mentor, kid. That’s my job.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the walk and at the gates to the village, went their separate ways. Neither felt like talking anymore.

********

Green had somehow become the predominant colour in the village while she hadn't been looking. The leaves on the trees were beginning to unfurl, and shoots began to spring up in garden beds, with the promise of new flowers and a new season. But looking out the window of her bedroom, none of that was what had captured her attention.

It was Peeta, on the porch of the Capitol house, sitting on a curvy wooden chair, his legs drawn up, a book balanced on his knees.

_He was here?_

She hadn't heard a thing from him since the announcement, his silence deafening, his abandonment of her obvious. When it all came down to it, when it all got too hard, he backed away from her, just like she thought he would. And now he was back? For what, sympathy? A farewell?

She hadn't shifted from her room in days, but the sight of him - unannounced - spurred her into action. Katniss stumbled down the stairs, shoved her feet into her boots and barrelled out of the door, practically marching her way down the street towards Peeta. Her tread must have been unusually heavy, because he looked up in her direction the closer she got; his feet hit the ground, the notebook dropped, forgotten to his side. He began to walk off the porch, but she stopped him in his tracks with her fists, pummelling against his chest.

"So you just show up unannounced, huh? When you damn well feel like it? You just leave...leave me alone for the whole week, other than a shitty 5 minute conversation and then just sit here and draw or whatever?!" She kicked at the notebook, and shoved at his chest one more time for good measure before stalking back off the porch, her braid whipping across her face. “Fuck you, Peeta Mellark!”

His hand encircled her wrist, spinning her back around, his eyes burning into hers. "I had to _wait_ , Katniss. Everything I’ve done this week, everything I’ve said, has been watched or listened in on," he hissed quietly.  "Snow thinks I'm _happy_ about this, you hear? He thinks I _want_ you to go into that arena. And me running back here to you - despite it being all I wanted to do all damn week - would raise so many damn flags in his eyes, it's not funny. I wanted to call you every night, but the things I wanted to say couldn’t go through the proper channels, through our registered comms. I know it’s not an excuse, Katniss, but I had my reasons."

“You could have contacted me through Haymitch,” she snapped.

He sighed, gentled his fingers around her wrist before sliding them through hers and twining them together. She looked down at them, hated that his touch was something she’d missed as much as she had. “I wanted to, so many times. But the times I could avoid being under surveillance? I had to meet with Plutarch, had to find out what I could.”

Her brow furrowed, and she slicked her tongue along lips that were dry and cracked. “Find out what?”

“Find out what’s going on. Katniss...there’s more to this than meets the eye. There’s so much I have to tell you.”

She glanced into his eyes, not wanting - but finding - the sincerity in them. She wondered sometimes how everything in his face could be so open, so obvious to her, but so hidden to so many others, like Snow. “Then tell me,” she sighed. “Let’s go inside and you can tell me.”

“Inside?” he questioned.

“Use your holograms, Peeta.” She tugged her hand from his, slid past him and walked into the house. “You know what to do.”

Sitting in the brocade armchair that was situated by the window, she watched as he walked in, as he slipped his hand into his pocket to activate the holo request before closing the front door. He sat across from her, elbows resting on his knees, eyes on the floor, not speaking. She knew they had 15 minutes to kill before the feed switched over, but she didn’t know what to do, what to say. She was torn; one part of her was still angry and wanted to keep yelling, the other part could see the reason in his words and just wanted to crawl into his lap.

So instead she did neither, and simply sat, staring out the window, waiting for their time to be up. It was almost up anyway. Soon enough, she’d be dead, and he could go on his way.

A small cough drew her attention, and she glanced over at him. He lifted his hands up in question. “So what would you like to know?”

“Everything,” she told him. “I just want to know whatever it is you need to tell me.”

He nodded, rubbed both his hands through his hair and began to speak, measured and slowly and carefully, watching her reaction to everything he said. She listened as his voice betrayed every emotion he felt, as his fists clenched his knees, as his cheeks turned pink and then red. Her heart pounded madly, her throat drying and closing the more he told her. The anger she felt towards Peeta drained from her, filling her instead with a sense of loss.

She couldn’t believe the Capitol was going to so much trouble to ruin her, to kill her, to be rid of her.

Katniss tucked her legs up, wrapped her arms around them tightly, her fingers digging into the flesh of her forearms until she was certain she would leave bruises that would last for days. The silence after Peeta finished explaining had dragged on for what felt like hours, but the words just didn’t seem to want to come to her.

"It was planned," she finally whispered, and watched as his jaw clenched, as the muscle in it flexed against the skin that was flushed in anger.

"Yes," He said shortly, his hands forming into fists at his sides.  "That’s why I had to be so careful this week, why I have to continue to be. They’re going to be watching me even more closely now, because all their focus is on you, even more than normal. But it doesn’t change anything.  I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you come out of this alive, Katniss. We’re already brainstorming, the rebellion has been planning the moment they knew what Snow was-"

"Stop," Katniss said quietly. "I don’t want to hear about that right now, because there are no guarantees, Peeta.  It could be it for me this time."

He shook his head forcefully, rose and took the three steps until he was right in front of her. He lowered to his haunches, lifted a hand to the end of her braid. “Not if I can help it.  I promise.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured.

“I will keep this,” Peeta said firmly. “I’m...I’m not going to let you go after only just finding you.”

The sob escaped before she could stop it, and without a pause, Peeta had risen to his feet, scooped her out of the chair and switched their places; Katniss curled into him now that she was on his lap, listening to the steady beat of his heart under her ear. His arms wrapped around her, one brushing along her arm and the thin fabric of her sweater, the other resting slightly on her thigh. She’d missed this, the closeness he gave her, the sense of comfort that she could only ever achieve with either Peeta or Prim. But his comfort was different. It soothed, it calmed, but it also made her ache with everything she would never get to feel, especially now.

Katniss raised her head, pressed her lips softly to his before raising them to his ear. “I don’t want you to let me go either,” she said quietly.

“Then we’ll do all we can,” Peeta said, dropping his forehead to hers.

All she could do was nod as her throat clenched again. _ _They'd do whatever they could to stop the Capitol from winning.__


	12. Chapter 12

“And the Capitol is still in a state of shock with the Quell announcement, isn't it, Caesar?”

“Oh, yes, Claudius, absolutely in _shock!_ Not only are they speculating who this year’s Tributes may be, but they’re still coming to terms with their most recent Victor, Katniss Everdeen, going into the Arena again so soon.” Caesar Flickerman allowed one single, soft sigh to fall from his lips as he looked sadly down the barrel of the camera. “And to think she didn’t have the opportunity to spend much time in the Capitol, and all the wonders it has to offer. Let’s hope she can repeat herself and perhaps come out victorious again, hmm, Claudius?”

The co-anchor nodded his head in agreement as the two men continued to discuss the Quell. Even over a week after the card reading it was still the hot topic for every Capitolite. It was discussed over lunch dates, odds placed in bars against who would be reaped, families debated as they watched their projector screens of an evening.

Even from the relative quiet of the sitting room of the Capitol house in Twelve, Peeta could feel the intensity that was building as preparations began.

Switching the screen off with an annoyed grunt, he glanced down at the sleeping form of Katniss on the sofa beside him. She was curled up, her knees hugged to her chest while her cheek rested against his thigh. After he’d told her all he could about the Quell, they’d continued to sit as the sun began to set, murmuring quietly to each other until he’d told her he needed to turn the holo off. She’d begrudgingly allowed him to - after admitting she enjoyed knowing that for the first time in over a week the Capitol hadn’t really been watching her - and then quietly sat beside him as he’d switched the screen on to a reality program about young socialites in the Capitol. It didn’t particularly interest either of them, but after the day and week they’d had, it was the least of their concerns and worries, and mindless programming was all they could deal with.

Katniss had dropped like a light within 5 minutes, and he’d switched to the Capitol news station those who were watching would expect him to.

“Katniss,” he whispered, and she didn’t stir. “Wake up. Katniss?” he said a little louder, with a slight tap to her shoulder. She started, her body shooting upright abruptly, eyes wide, fists clenched, before she saw Peeta beside her. Her tensed shoulders immediately relaxed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologised.

“It’s okay,” she replied, rubbing her eyes. “I...I slept really well. How long was I out for?”

He glanced down at his watch, surprised himself at the time. “About 3 hours. Your mom called to see if you were here, to make sure you were alright. She, um...she said it was the first time you’d really left the house in a week.”

Katniss looked away, trying to hide the pink that crept across her cheeks. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I didn’t much feel like going out.”

“You have to, though,” he said. “Especially now.” One of the topics they’d discussed before he’d switched the holo off had been his idea for her - and Haymitch - to train, to hone their skills to match those of other Victors who were likely to have maintained their strength and stamina in the years since their win. She’d argued at first, not seeing the point, but then he’d reminded her of Prim, of the people she would return to if she won.

He didn’t mention himself, but the implication had been there.

“I know I do,” she replied. Katniss stood, stretched her arms out behind her back, then sighed. “I suppose I should go home.”

“I can walk you if you like?”

“Okay.”

Peeta nodded, began walking towards the door before turning back to her abruptly. _No. No, he didn’t want to do that_. “You can, uh, stay here instead, if you wanted to? I can call your mom, and I’m sure I have something you can sleep in…” He trailed off, watched as the pink in her cheeks deepened. He ran his hand through his hair, turned back to the door. “No, never mind, forget-”

“Yes,” she said simply.

He pivoted on his foot. “Really?”

“Really.” She shrugged. “I may...I may as well make the most of what time we have together, right?”

His lips firmed, and he strode back to her. “Don’t say things like that, Katniss.  I mean it.” His arms reached out, wrapped around her and pulled her close. “Just don’t. It’s selfish of me, but I can’t think of that right now.” He squeezed her, as though if he didn’t, she’d simply disappear from his arms. He wished Cressida and Plutarch hadn’t been so set on Katniss not knowing about the planned rescue mission, wished he could tell her so that the worry lines on her forehead and the reluctant acceptance in her eyes would disappear.

But he couldn’t, and for now, this was all he could do.

“I’ll go call my mom,” Katniss said. “If you want to go up and find me some clothes to sleep in.” He nodded, probably more enthusiastically than he should have, and took the stairs two at a time to the bedroom. Rifling through the drawers he’d tossed his clothes into, he finally found one shirt that would probably fit well enough - while he wasn’t all that much taller than Katniss, her petite build was in distinct contrast to his broad shoulders and chest. The loose, soft material of the t-shirt would work.

“Did you find something?” He glanced over his shoulder to see her standing at the door, arms wrapped around her waist as though she were holding herself together.

“I did. You’re so quiet - I didn’t even hear you walk up the stairs.” He held out the shirt, waited for her to take it.

“Still light on my feet, I suppose,” Katniss replied, wrapped her fingers around the grey cotton. “I’m just going to, uh, change in the bathroom.”

“No, it’s okay. You can change out here - my sleep clothes are in there already.” She nodded in agreement and he walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him before moving over to the counter. His fingers clutched the basin tightly, his eyes staring back at him in the mirror.

Sometimes it amazed him that he could so calmly lie to the face of the President, could work as a ‘double agent’ so to speak, without a worry or a qualm - yet when it came to Katniss Everdeen, it was like every single one of his carefully built barriers crumbled. She was his Achilles heel, and he needed to be careful. Now, when things were even more precarious, he had to be at his smartest, at his wariest.

Because as of this moment, all he could think about was her; keeping her safe and keeping her _his_.

Stripping off his clothes and tossing them haphazardly towards the hamper, he tugged on the sleep pants and thin, short-sleeved top. He splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, ran his hands through his hair, tugged at the end of his shirt - anything, basically, to get his mind off the fact that Katniss was on the other side of the door, in his bed.

It was purely innocent. She was here because he knew she’d slept soundly each time she’d been with him, and he wanted her to sleep as much as she could. From tomorrow, things were going to get even harder for her.

But it didn’t change the fact that the idea of sleeping beside Katniss made his stomach tie in anticipatory knots.

Switching the light off as he opened the door, Peeta stepped out to find her already under the covers, the small lamp on the bedside table throwing shadows across the room. She looked small, swallowed up by the fluffy comforter, a dizzying pattern of silver and gold and black threads. He didn’t speak, simply slid into bed beside her, reaching out to turn the lamp off. Faint light from the moon slipped through the gap in the curtains as they fluttered slightly with the breeze, and he waited until his eyes had adjusted to the dark before turning onto his side to face her. Katniss did the same, her braid curling over her shoulder and brushing against his forearm, her hands tucked under her pillow. His hand reached up, tugged the comforter up so that it rested just below their chins.

“You alright?" He whispered. He reached out, grasped her hand firmly in his.

"Yes."

Peeta squeezed her hand, waited until he heard her breathing even out into the soft breaths of sleep before turning onto his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. While she slept, a thousand scenarios in the Arena ran through his head, each one clenching his heart tighter than the one before.

She didn't survive any of them.

********

Katniss studied the three men gathered around her under the rotunda - the surly older man grasping tightly to a small silver flask, the blond Capitolite with a comm in his hand and a serious look in his eye, and the tall, dark haired miner with a scowl and his arms firmly folded across his chest. After 15 minutes of short explanations, snappy comments and rising tensions, none of them were talking anymore. These were her allies.

She really wasn’t coming out of this Arena alive.

She’d slept until 9, the longest she’d slept uninterrupted and peacefully in a long time - possibly ever. The steady beat of Peeta’s heart under her ear - somehow, during the night, they’d twisted and twined until they were a tangle of limbs under the sheets - had been a rhythm that had lulled her to sleep. She would have stayed there all day if she could, but they had had appearances to maintain; instead, they’d spent the rest of the day at her home with Prim and her mother, under the guise of a perfectly innocent visit by Peeta to his unlucky victor.

While they had been busy being outsmarted at chess by Prim and playing semi-happy families, Haymitch had gotten word to Gale, organising for him to meet with them half an hour after his shift ended. It had been her idea - Gale’s knowledge of snares and setting traps was a skill that Haymitch needed to learn going into the Arena, and they needed a man bigger than both of them to help train physically.

If Gale wanted in on the rebellion, this was his first step.

He suddenly threw his hands out at his sides, interrupting the awkward silence and Katniss' thoughts. “So, this is it? You got me to come out here after busting my ass for 12 hours in a mine, and we’re just going to hang about and twiddle our thumbs?”

“What more do you want us to tell you?” Peeta snapped back.

Gale sneered. “I dunno, how about you start with the part where you caused all this to happen?”

Haymitch scowled, holding a hand up at Peeta to stop him in his tracks before glaring across at Gale. “I’d shut your mouth if I were you,” he warned. “You know that’s not true. Nothing we’ve done has changed Snow’s mind one little bit. He had it in for Katniss the moment she made people question the games.”

“Then what the hell is being done?” Gale demanded. “All I’ve heard so far is rebellion this, and trying to plan that and-”

“It’s none of your damned business,” Peeta interrupted. “Making sure we do what we can for Katniss and Haymitch is our priority, and what we do outside of _here_ has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me!” Gale exploded, taking a step towards Peeta. “I’m part of this fucking rebellion too, you know. You fall back on your Capitol-”

“STOP!” Katniss shouted.  She glared at the two men in front of her, almost toe to toe with each other, their eyes hot and bitter. They turned to her in frustration. “In case you’d forgotten, _we’re_ the ones going into the Arena again.” She gestured angrily between herself and Haymitch with her thumb. “You can argue about this all you like when I’m dead and no longer anyone’s problem.”

Peeta opened his mouth, a pained look on his face. "Katniss-"

"No," she said firmly. "I don't want to talk anymore. I'm sick of talking, sick of fighting. There's nothing more that we can do other than train, than try and become as fit and cutthroat as the Careers. And we're not going to get there by fighting with each other."

Gale tipped his head to the side. “So that’s why I’m here? To help you train or something?”

“Yeah,” Haymitch drawled. “It was the boy’s idea here that we get ourselves whipped into shape.”

“I thought it was against the rules to train for the Games.”

“What, you suddenly play by the rules now?” Haymitch couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Kid, it don’t matter what we do, they can’t stop us. What are they gonna do - kill off the only two victors they have from Twelve? Doubt it.”

Four stony faces glared at each other, almost as if to dare the others to speak first. “What do you want me to do then?” Gale asked eventually.

“Teach Haymitch to make traps and snares. And fight with us. Hand to hand combat,” Katniss told him. She watched him cringe.

“Fighting, Catnip?” he asked. “You know I’m no good at that. I can throw a couple punches, but wrestling? That's not me.”

“Whatever you can show them,” Peeta interrupted. “It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it’s something.  I already spoke to Mrs Everdeen about the right kind of diet to help them gain weight and to help with muscle development. They just need this. I can’t be here, so you need to be.”

“Then I’m just your replacement?” Gale tossed back.

“Gale-” Katniss began to warn, but he was already shaking his own head.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…” he scrubbed his hands across his face and Katniss could still see the dirt and soot and grime embedded under his fingernails. “I’m still not sure it’s sunk in what’s happening. You were….you were supposed to be out of it all.”

“I know that, Gale." She held up her hands, annoyance creeping into her tone. _He said it as though she wasn't fully aware of the predicament she was in._ "But there’s nothing we can do now, except this.”

“And hope the rebellion comes up with something in the meantime.”

“That’s what we’re doing,” Peeta said firmly. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed in a straight line. Katniss wondered if Peeta and Gale would ever be able to co-exist peacefully, and then realised it didn’t really matter - once she was gone, they’d have no need to even speak to each other. Gale would stay here, Peeta would return to the Capitol, and they’d both move on, simple as that. No matter what Peeta said, no matter what silver lining he kept trying to look for, or make her hopeful about, it didn’t change the fact that Snow wasn't going to allow her to win.

Shoving her hands deep in her pockets, she turned to Gale. “So will you help us?” She glanced over at Haymitch - who had his legs kicked out and his eyes closed, as though he was ready for sleep - and then at Peeta, who still radiated tension and frustration.

“Yeah, you know I will,” Gale told her. “We’ve got to make sure you come home, right?”

“Make sure _one_ of us comes home,” she murmured, saw Haymitch’s eyes lazily open out of the corner of her own.

“No hope for me, sweetheart,” he replied bluntly. “I’m just gonna do this to make sure I can cover your ass if it needs it.” The warning look in his eye was more than enough to stop her from arguing.

“Alright then. I guess you start tomorrow,” Peeta said.

“You won’t be there?” Gale asked, and although Katniss knew he was trying to control it, there was still a slight bite to his tone.

“Oh, I’ll be there, but I can’t be seen helping,” he replied simply. “So it’s back to what I do best, I guess - my job. Take photos. Spy. Snow wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“He’d want photos of me...training?” Katniss said, the distaste obvious on her face.

Haymitch rose to his feet. “The boy's right. Snow might not be able to release them to the public, sweetheart, but the bastard will get some sick kind of perversion from watching you attempt to try and win. Remember he thinks he holds _all_ the cards here. We're just helping him to think that even more.” He shoved his flask back in his pocket, glanced over at Gale. “I’m done for the day. I guess we’ll see you same time tomorrow, my place.” He walked off without a backwards glance, whistling decidedly out of tune.

Gale looked at Katniss and shrugged. "I guess he will," he said gruffly. "I need to get home, Mom will be wondering where I am. I’ll see you, Catnip." He tipped his head at Peeta, then walked off in the opposite direction to Haymitch, to cut through town back to the Seam.

Katniss shifted her attention to Peeta, watched as he shoved his comm into his pocket. "I guess that went well?"

"Gale agreed. That's all we could hope for."

"I'm sorry he was so rude to you."

“I kind of expected it. He's angry, Katniss, that's all. Not at me, specifically, but I'm an easy target. Let him channel that into the training."

“I guess. I’m still not entirely sure it will change anything, but we do what we can, I suppose.”

He sighed. “If you’re not really convinced this is a good thing to do, why are you agreeing to it? Why did we even bother to just have that discussion?"

She shrugged. “What else am I going to do? Sit around in the hope the rebellion does something?” She folded her arms across her chest, the words that had laid heavily on her all afternoon suddenly beginning to tumble out.  “I’m doing it because I don’t want to rely on anyone else in the slim hope they manage to pull _something_ off. I’ve been self-reliant for a long time, Peeta, and that isn’t going to change just because some guy like Plutarch says he’s going to come up with a big plan. I can’t afford to think any other way other than survival. And this training, no matter how minimal it may be, might mean that.” She took a deep breath, looked out in the direction Haymitch had wandered off. “And I’m doing it for him.  If I can’t survive, I want him to.”

Peeta ran his hands through his hair, resting them at the nape of his neck and interlacing his fingers. “Katniss, he won’t want to live if you don’t,” he said simply. “Look at what losing kid after kid every year has done to him. You think it’s going to make things any easier for him if you...if you die?”

“I don’t know!” She threw her hands up, the frustration building up in her so that her words came out in an unexpected shout. "I shouldn't even have to be worrying about this! I thought my biggest worry was going to be doing what he’s always had to do, mentoring! Not the Arena _again!_ "

"I know!" She watched as he tightened his forearms around his head, covering his ears as if to block out her words. "I _know_ , Katniss. That's why we’re doing all of this!"

“No,” she argued. “You don’t _know_ , you don’t understand! You’ve never had to worry about the threat of going into that Arena, never had to worry if your brother or sister or best friend were going to get reaped. Never had to worry if the desk beside you at school was going to be empty come the end of the games. Never had to worry about taking tesserae to help feed your family, knowing that all it does is increase your chances of dying. You might think you understand what all of this is like, Peeta, but you don’t!”

“You’re right, I don’t,” he shot back, his arms dropping to his sides. “Not in that way. But I know what I see when those kids come to the Capitol. I see what happens to them while they’re there, and I see what happens to them after they win. I watch kids get reaped year after year and even though I don’t know them, it’s still painful to watch. And I know when the time comes for the next Reaping, I’m going to be standing there, worrying about the girl I love being reaped! Except I already know it’s going to happen, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it!” His tirade ended on a shout, and her mouth dropped open. None of that was what she’d expected to hear come pouring out of his mouth, and she had no idea how to respond. She hadn't realised all of that had built up inside of _him_ ; hadn't realised he’d been concealing his true worries so well.

Instead, she raised her hands to the front of his shirt and tugged him to her, clumsily covering his mouth with hers. She still really didn't feel like she knew what she was doing, but it didn't matter. All she knew, right now, is that she _didn't_ want to talk or fight or argue anymore. She just wanted some kind of comfort, dammit. Something to remind her that, even for a short time, she'd had something good.

His arms banded around her waist, pulling her closer, tighter. She couldn't really breathe, but it didn't matter. Peeta's lips were warm and soft and desperate against hers, his tongue sliding across her lower lip, encouraging her mouth to part and allowing him to deepen the kiss. Her chest felt like it was going to burst, but the ache that sparked inside her, causing her hips to press against him even more, was welcomed. _It made her feel alive._

Peeta's mouth trailed across her jaw, down her neck, settled on the soft juncture just below her ear. Her head fell back almost involuntarily, her fingers clutching even tighter at his shirt, and welcomed the way his hands spread across her lower back. Her arms slipped around his neck, fingers tugging at the blonde strands at the nape of his neck, listened as he released a short moan against her skin.  It reminded her of their first kiss in the woods, where his hand had slipped under her shirt, traced along her skin, curved over her body. The way everything had converged into that one single moment of frustration and want and need. And again, the way they’d kissed in her room after the interview with Caesar, and he’d stopped them before they went too far, though she couldn’t imagine why she’d ever _want_ to stop.

She wanted his hands on her _again_ , everywhere, anywhere he could touch her.

She brought his mouth back to hers and kissed him until she was out of breath and her thoughts were full of nothing but him.

********

“These are some striking photographs, Mr Mellark.” President Snow studied the images that appeared on his screen, smirked slightly at one of Katniss and Haymitch glaring at each other over a snare. “It’s so insightful to see what people do when they feel cornered.” He reached for the remote, switched the vision off. “As usual, you surprise me with your ingenuity, and making the most of the situation. But then again, so does Miss Everdeen. Trying everything little thing she can think of to survive. It’s almost…inspiring.”

“I thought it would be something you’d be interested in seeing. I advised Miss Everdeen they would be incorporated into her Victor Portfolio.”

Snow steepled his fingers together atop his desk. "Very clever. And you are correct, I’m _very_ interested in seeing these. They are marvellous.”

Peeta had been back in the Capitol for almost a week, had thrown himself back into his work and had managed one brief interaction with Plutarch. In their short meeting, Plutarch had been able to tell him very little of any progress of the rebellions plans, other than that the Arena was almost complete and that the rescue couldn’t be finalised until every element of it was done. They’d argued – again – and Peeta had bitterly complained over how limited their time was to ensure the plan was sound and safe and doable. He’d stormed out before he became tempted enough to throw another punch.

Afterwards, he’d ensconced himself in his apartment for the rest of the day, editing the photos he’d taken in Twelve of Katniss, Haymitch and Gale. He’d spent far too long looking at the images of Katniss, wondering if this would be all he would ever have left of her. And when he was done, and he knew they were some of the photos he was the proudest of taking so far in his career, he’d contacted Snow’s office and requested a meeting. It was the first time he’d ever initiated one, and hoped it showed some sense of loyalty and interest in the President’s plans. His risk, apparently, had paid off.

Snow stood, moved over to the wide window that ran the length of the wall beside the mahogany desk, stared out to the street below. “Tell me, are their spirits high? The Mockingjay and the Drunk?”

“As high as they can be, President Snow,” Peeta replied.

“They spend so little time in their homes now, it’s hard to determine how they’re truly feeling,” Snow murmured quietly. He turned back around to face Peeta, hands clasped behind his back. “I assume Miss Everdeen will want to see you again before the Reaping?”

“I…I would suppose so,” Peeta said hesitantly.

“Good, good.  You’ll visit Twelve again, Mr Mellark, as a guest of the Capitol. A number of times. I want to know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

Peeta shook his head. “No, President Snow.”

“Correct response. I shall advise Heavensbee and Cressida to clear you from work duties at any time while you still continue to remain under their employ. Although after this Reaping…” Snow trailed off, walked slowly over to Peeta until he was standing directly in front of him. The smell of roses was cloying, the scent from the single white bud just barely hiding the metallic scent of blood Peeta had come to think of synonymously with the man.

“After this reaping?” Peeta prompted.

“With this reaping, you will remain on your usual duty, covering the events at Four. I’d originally thought to suggest you travel with the crew that covers Twelve, but I’m afraid your appearance there would be too…distracting. After this Reaping however, Mr Mellark, I believe you should focus solely on your responsibilities of being Capitol Photographer. I’m certain Cressida and Heavensbee will be delighted with your promotion and official appointment.”

Peeta nodded simply, unsure what else to say or do. Because as Snow had spoken those words, the realisation had finally hit that if the rescue didn’t succeed, and the rebellion failed in their acts, he would be working with President Snow for the rest of his days. He knew no one – _no one_ – left the President’s employ voluntarily.

Snow pursed his lips together and returned to his seat, gestured towards the door as he did so. “I’m looking forward to working with you more closely in the future, Mr Mellark.” Peeta nodded again, realising he was being dismissed and took a step towards the door. “Oh, by the way…” Peeta turned on his foot, glanced back at Snow. “Thank you again for the images, they’ve added an unexpected frivolity to my day.” He smiled, wide and white and enthusiastically.

But it didn’t reach his eyes, and the shiver that ran down Peeta’s spine was immediate and chilling.

He moved from the office as quickly as he could, keen to get as much distance between himself and the President as possible.

********

They trained, and trained hard. Years of liquor abuse and not giving a shit hadn't done Haymitch's body any favours, and it fought bitterly as he tried to re-train it. Katniss attempted to show him how to use a bow with little success, and knife throwing didn't fare better.

He could at least build a decent snare though, so at least that was one thing.

Peeta came back to Twelve on occasion, to give updates on the rebellion - of which there were few, beyond continued unrest in the Districts - and reports on Snow - slyly gleeful over her impending demise. Katniss was glad he never sugar coated it, that Peeta was honest in what Snow said or did. She knew he went back and reported on her after each of his visits – albeit abbreviated versions of the truth – and wondered how he did it, day in and day out.

The nights she slept beside him were nightmare free, and made up for the others where she’d wake screaming, tears pouring down her face for Rue, for Foxface, for _herself_.  And during the day, when a simple word, the smallest sound, the slightest intake of breath, could make her chest heave and her mind to race right back into the Arena, he was there to take her hand and tell her it was okay. And because he wouldn’t take no for an answer, she always agreed with him, though she knew as much as the next person that it was never going to be alright.

Slowly, hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Katniss became fitter, stronger, weighed more than she had in her entire life with the diet her mother put her on. Haymitch learnt how to perform a decent choke hold and while his hands still shook when he threw a knife, eventually he could at least get it to stick.

Gale trained with them when he could, on Sundays, and in some of the hours after his shift finished. Occasionally - in the times sweat would seep through his shirt and he's toss it aside - Katniss would study the raised lines that criss-crossed his back, pink and white and stark against his olive skin. They were just another bitter reminder of what they were up against.

Routine became habit, and soon it was all they knew.

Reaping Day dawned muggy and warm, the sun beating down on their heads as they headed to the square. The Quell was upon them, and her fate was in the hands of 22 other tributes who all wanted her dead - along with the slim hope that perhaps - _perhaps_ \- the rebellion could stop it all before it began.

********

Peeta raised the camera to his face, framed the stage in the centre of the shot, before pressing the small button to capture the image. It was elaborately decorated as usual, banners in sea green and golden yellow hanging from the edge of the Justice Building, music blasting from the large speakers that were set up around the square. It wasn't loud enough though, to cover the dismayed murmurs of the crowd. Four would never show dissent towards the Capitol by out rightly voicing their opinions, but Peeta could feel the unease, the tension. They had Victors that everyone loved, for a multitude of reasons. And there was a very good chance that they would lose two of them by the end of this week.

He couldn’t believe the day had arrived, after months of preparation and travelling between Twelve and the Capitol constantly. He was exhausted and utterly spent from trying to remain upbeat for Katniss, meetings on the rebellion and maintaining his cover with Snow. He’d not seen his family in months – not that they missed him – and he’d barely had more than 4 hours sleep a night in all that time.

Closing his eyes, he briefly thought about what life would be like once it was all over.

The order came through his ear, a short and sharp announcement from the program coordinator, and right on cue the doors to the Justice Building opened, the flamboyant escort from Four stepping through them. He wore green, a bright lime shade that contrasted with the banners that fluttered behind him, with a small hat jauntily placed on his head at an angle. Peeta adjusted the aperture on his camera, zoomed in slightly to capture the clownish make-up that finished off the escorts look.

“Welcome!” he crowed, clasping his hands together at chest height. “How exciting it is that we’re here today for the reaping of the 75th Hunger Games!” He took in an exaggerated deep breath, and Peeta was glad the camera obscured his eye-roll. “We’re all aware of the announcement President Snow made for this Quarter Quell, and what it means for our glorious victors. Two of them will be re-entering the Arena, hoping to bring victory back to our District again.” He glanced at the two small clusters of people at either end of the stage, smiling winningly. “Now, without further ado…” He moved over to one of the bowls, dipped his hand in and pulled out one of the small slips of paper. “The male victor representing District Four in this year’s Hunger Games is….” A hush fell over the crowd as the escort paused dramatically. “Finnick Odair!”

The camera almost slipped from Peeta’s hands as his head flew up in shock. _No. No, no no. Not Finnick as well. Finnick and Haymitch and Katniss…._ His breath came short, and he tried desperately to compose himself. _This couldn’t be happening._

He couldn’t allow any of the other crew situated around the square to see his reaction, so instead he moved around the edge of the crowd, taking photos he wasn’t even really seeing, as Finnick stepped forward to take his place beside the escort. He smiled, and waved to the crowd, as a mixture of cheers and wailing sobs echoed around the square.

They only got worse as Annie Cresta’s name was called, as Mags stepped forward to take her place. Annie sobbed hysterically while Mags tried to comfort her, while Finnick wrapped his arms around both of them. And in that instant, Peeta was certain every bone in his body was going to break with the intensity with which it ached. It was his worst nightmare, the people who had come to mean the most to him to be snatched away by the smallest pieces of paper.

His only thought was of the rescue mission, and the certainty that it _had_ to be a success. Otherwise he didn’t know if there was a point to going on if he lost everyone he loved.

********

An hour later, after the square had been packed up and the equipment stored away ready for their return to the Capitol, Peeta sat in the small hovercraft bathroom, the delayed feed from Twelve’s Reaping on his comm. Head and heart heavy, he watched as Effie held the slip of paper in front of her, not even bothering to open it. If she had, Peeta mused, the whole nation would have seen how much her hands had been trembling, and how would that have been perceived, what comments would have been made? She cleared her throat, pasted on a smile as she moved toward the microphone.  Her voice was soft, softer than he could ever remember it being.

"This year's female tribute for the Quarter Quell is...Katniss Everdeen." It wasn't a surprise, considering the wide, clear bowl only had one piece of paper with a single name on it, but the knowledge didn't make the punch any easier. It certainly didn't dissolve the ball of terror that had lodged in his stomach the day the Quell announcement had been made and that had tightened and grown every day since.

Peeta bit down on his bottom lip as Katniss dutifully moved beside Effie, her spine straight, her face stoic but her eyes wet. And when Haymitch's name was called a minute later, the tear that tracked down her cheek cut him to the bone.

_There was no going back now._

 


	13. Chapter 13

_They hadn't even let her say goodbye._

The moment Haymitch's name had been called, hands in the crowd had risen like a wave, three fingers held out towards the stage in salute - just like they had when she’d volunteered for Prim. She’d banked down the terror, the anger, and raised her hand in kind; from the corner of her eye, she'd seen the Peacekeeper uniforms heading her way, before hands had clasped firmly around her arm. They'd dragged her backwards while she screamed for Prim, had watched as her sister's braids swung around her shoulders as she was held back. Then the doors to the Justice Building had closed, and she knew that was it. Done. Gone forever.

_Unless a miracle happened, she was never seeing Prim again._

Katniss sat on her bed, staring out at the landscape as it rushed by in a blur.  Effie had already come in twice trying to get her to eat, but Katniss hadn’t wanted anything to do with it. She couldn’t handle the pity in Effie’s eyes, or the resigned acceptance in Haymitch’s. It didn’t matter that they’d spent months training, that she was fitter and stronger and healthier than she’d ever been in her life. It didn’t matter that Haymitch’s eyes were clearer, that his grip was firmer, that he hadn’t passed out from overindulging in alcohol in weeks. It was all for naught, really, and the thought roiled through her belly until even the mention of food made her want to throw up.

She twisted herself until she was lying lengthways across the bed, and pulled the heavy quilt over her body.  Regardless that outside it was the middle of summer, and that back in Twelve, sweat would have been sliding down her neck, underneath her collar, down to the small of her back. In here, she was frozen, her skin chilled, her body achingly cold.

She knew the nightmares would arrive; it was inevitable. And there was no Peeta on this trip to keep them at bay - that thought alone lined her stomach with lead. So she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and imagined he was there. That his chest was underneath her cheek, that his fingers were curled around the end of her braid, that his arm was wrapped around her waist. She waited for the dreams to take her.

Instead, an hour later, she opened her eyes, unsure whether to cry or be grateful that sleep had eluded her.

The moon had risen high in the sky, beaming brightly through the window, slanting across the bed. Pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she stared out, wondered what Peeta was doing. Whether she would get to see him again, whether that would be _allowed_ when she arrived in the Capitol. She’d already been denied a final goodbye with Prim – would it happen with Peeta as well?

In turn she wondered what Prim was doing, whether she was awake with the knowledge of what was to come. Whether she was being consoled by their mother, or whether Alice had fallen back into the depths of despair again. She hoped, for both her mother’s and her sister’s sakes, that she hadn’t.

Katniss crawled off the bed, her feet sinking into the plush, midnight blue carpet. She didn't bother changing - she was still in the clothes she wore to the Reaping, had convinced herself that the faint scent of lavender that clung to Prim was lingering on them - and moved quietly from the room, down to the last carriage. The windows here lined the walls, the roof, and as she settled herself on the wide, plump sofa, she tipped her head back to gaze at the unrestricted view of the stars above. For some reason, it calmed her more than anything else on this train. Maybe because the stars weren't a product of the Capitol.

"Couldn't sleep?" His voice was gravelly, and tired, and when Haymitch stepped out of the shadowed corridor, she realised he looked as bad as she felt.

"I'd rather not sleep than dream," she said simply, and he nodded as he dropped onto the sofa opposite her. His hair was still lank and greasy, and no matter how much training they'd done, the paunch around his stomach hadn't shifted. 25 years of abuse couldn't be fixed in 2 months.

They sat in silence, nothing but the slight hum of the train as it fled through the darkened valleys. "You know it might turn out okay," Haymitch said finally.

Katniss glanced at him. "One winner, Haymitch. Whatever happens, it won't be okay."

"I'm serious," he told her bluntly. His eyes bored into her, as though they were trying to tell her something his mouth couldn’t. "Just don't give up hope, alright?"

She shrugged. "And you haven't?"

"Oh, I got hope, sweetheart...but I know you're more important than I am." She opened her mouth to argue, but the warning glint in his eyes stopped her. What did he mean ' _she was more important'_? Importance didn't mean shit in the Hunger Games. If importance was going to get a winner across the line, Finnick Odair and his charming ways would get him there.

_Finnick Odair._

His name rolled around in her head, reminding her of a conversation from weeks earlier, and she sat forward in her seat. "I remember...a while ago...we talked about me getting to know the other Victors better," Katniss started haltingly, dropping her voice almost out of habit. _Peeta had suggested it, one afternoon at the rotunda._ "We talked about getting copies of previous Games for me to watch. Were you able to get the footage from Effie?"

Haymitch nodded. "Yeah. Effie sent it to me last week. Well, except for our years. I don't think we're planning on fighting each other, huh sweetheart?" His attempt at sarcastic humour fell flat, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Eh, you don't need to see my shit anyway. If you’re not gonna sleep, do you wanna watch them now? Get some pointers, take some notes?" He asked, and she murmured her agreement. “Alright. I’ll get the disc and meet you in the screen room.”

Rising, she walked down the corridor to the screen room, and silently wondered what Haymitch would say if she told him she'd already seen his Games; whether he’d be disappointed, upset, mad, nonplussed. Some things, she decided, were better kept to herself.

She curled herself up on the long red seat that lined the entire back wall as Haymitch stepped into the room and turned the projector on; he slipped the small disk he produced from his pocket into the machine. He selected an option from the remote menu, and the screen flickered to life with a games from 15 years earlier, Caesar's enthusiastic voice booming out of the speakers.

A Capitol attendant entered the room and served them rich, creamy, heated milk mixed with a blend of spices and honey that warmed her from the inside out. She drank cup after cup as she watched the screen, making up for her missed dinner.

Effie wandered in close to 10pm - hair still perfectly coiffed, the hot pink confection she wore immaculate - and stayed for an hour. She didn’t say a word, simply watched in silence as she sat perched on the edge of the seat, her knees pressed firmly together. She pursed her lips distastefully on occasion, smiled faintly at others, glanced curiously at Haymitch or Katniss whenever they switched to new footage. It made Katniss wonder - and not for the first time - what Haymitch had meant when he’d told her of the ‘limited extent’ of the escort’s involvement in the rebellion, wondered if she’d ever find out. It didn’t matter though, really, she supposed. It wouldn’t make any difference.

She turned her attention back to the screen and, until the sun came up, watched 22 children kill or suffer their way to victory.

********

The door to his plain, nondescript cabin in the crew car opened with a barely imperceptible swish, and at first he ignored it, content to not pay any attention to whoever had interrupted his solitude. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to any of the other crew right now, didn’t want a beverage, didn’t want the meal he’d already turned away in the dining car. But then the word came, soft and broken, and Peeta knew he couldn’t ignore them.

“Peeta?” He took a deep breath and turned his head to see Finnick standing there, hands braced against the doorframe. His eyes were red and swollen, and his face haggard.

"She asleep?" Peeta asked quietly, dropping the back of his head against the cool glass behind him with a soft sigh.  He was tired, had been begging for sleep to claim him for hours. It still hadn’t come.

He'd watched the Reapings from the other Districts on his comm, stomach twisting with nerves each time a victor with a name he knew to be connected with the rebellion was called. _Johanna Mason. Beetee Latier. Chaff Mikaelson._ _There were so many of them._ He’d wondered how on earth Plutarch was going to get all of these Allies out, whether they’d been counting on this many people having to be rescued. But those thoughts had made his head ache, let alone worrying about Katniss as well, so he’d closed down the comm and had planted himself on the window seat in his cabin. He’d been there for hours now, staring blindly outside, his fingers tapping mindlessly on his leg. He couldn't remember one thing he'd seen of the landscape.

"She's asleep," Finnick confirmed.

"And Mags?"

"She is too. I left them both in Annie’s room." He scraped his hands across his face, through his hair until the bronze strands almost stood on end. "Shit, this is worse than I ever imagined. She's a damned mess, and so am I."

Peeta chewed on his lower lip, wishing they were somewhere they could talk _properly_. Instead, he had to be careful with what he said - they had to talk in circles, pretend there wasn't anything higher at stake.

"You weren’t to know, Finn," he finally said.

"I should have!" The words exploded out of Finnick unexpectedly, and he stalked into the room, throwing himself down on Peeta's bed, staring at the ceiling. "President Snow warned me - no, he didn't warn me, he told me _explicitly_. And I just ignored it!"

It hadn't been until they'd been ensconced in the Justice Building following the Reaping that realisation set in. Wasn't until Annie had been escorted in by two Peacekeepers that reality hit, that words spoken months ago by Finnick sunk in.

_"Snow banished her to Four, with the stipulation she mentor in the next games.”_

Annie's eyes had been glassy, Mags' sad, Finnick’s utterly despondent.  And Peeta had felt another fracture, deep inside his bones.

His whole life was crumbling around him, and his only hope was a plan that he wasn’t even certain would work.

"There's a difference between being ignorant and what's happened here," Peeta told him. "When President Snow made that deal with you - the deal where you saved Annie from being _sold_ \- you weren't to know what the Quell would be. Finn, you would have been in the Capitol, that's why you did it - you figured you'd be there to help her. Don't beat yourself up over something you didn't expect."

"But I should have," Finnick repeated, and this time his voice was lifeless, inflection free. "All this time I was worrying whether she would get reaped. That's all. This didn't even occur to me. And I can't even tell her..."

 _About the rebellion_. Peeta knew the words without Finnick having to say a thing. He pulled himself off the window seat - his knee cracking from being bent for so long - and crossed the room, slumping on the corner of the bed with his arms dangling limply between his knees. He knew what he had to say here, both what Finnick needed to hear, and what the surveillance expected. They were probably already surprised at Finnick pouring his heart out to Peeta, but he figured they'd been spotted chatting at enough Capitol functions together for it not to be questioned.

"Then you know what you have to do," he began quietly, waited until Finnick looked over at him. "You have to win. You have to win, so both you and Annie can go home."

His eyes - the green dull and void of the life that normally filled them - darkened. "What about you and Katniss?"

Peeta shrugged, even while his stomach pitched. He cleared his throat, forced himself not to rub his neck in frustration.  "You know that’s nothing serious, Finn. Just a way to pass some time." _Happy, assholes? Is that what you want to hear??_

"True," Finnick murmured, though he followed it up with a mouthed _'I'm sorry'._

Peeta shook his head - he couldn't handle any form of pity for himself right now. "Annie being a Mentor for this is not ideal, no. But you'd rather her there than in the Arena, right?" Finnick nodded. "So then all you need to do is come out alive." _And so does Katniss. And Mags. And Johanna, and the morphlings, their allies from 3 and 11._ "That's all."

"Come out alive," Finnick echoed. "And it will be alright."

They fell into silence, both thinking the same thing.

_They hoped so._

********

She wasn’t planning on smiling, wasn’t planning on waving. She wasn’t here for them, wasn’t here to play to their silly little popularity games. She was here for one reason, and one reason only.

Because President Snow wanted her dead. And that wasn’t something she particularly felt like celebrating.

The train slowed to a stop, the calls from the crowds outside reaching fever pitch. People dressed in shades of yellow, of magenta, and electric blue, their hair teased and primped until it sat in high, complicated twists or in Katniss’ signature braid. She couldn’t help but snort at that, that a hairstyle meant for practicality was seen here as a fashion statement.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Haymitch asked. She turned to him, noticed his eyes were tired. She supposed hers were as well - they’d stayed up the entire night becoming acquainted with their fellow Tributes. Haymitch had begun to add little personal anecdotes here and there as they watched, but when his throat had hitched when reminiscing over a drinking session he and Chaff once had, there had been no more. Katniss hadn’t pushed it any further, because she realised that regardless of whether he lived or died, Haymitch was going to lose people he’d had in his life for a long time. People he may have just considered friends.

“As I’ll ever be,” she confirmed with a nod. Effie suddenly appeared at her side, smoothing out a crease in her reaping clothes, patting down some flyaway hairs around her temples.

“Honestly, Katniss, why are you still wearing these?” She admonished. From the corner of her eye, Katniss saw Haymitch roll his eyes. “I left perfectly nice clothes for you to change into in your room.”

“These are perfectly nice clothes too,” she intoned. “Cinna made them.”

“Yes, well…” Effie trailed off, flustered. “I just simply meant...never mind.” She tugged lightly at Katniss’ collar, straightening it. “Just remember, once we step off the train we’re heading straight to the transportation. It will lead us directly to the new Training Centre.”

“New?” Katniss echoed. “We’re not in the same one as last time?”

Effie waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s the same building, Katniss, just completely renovated. You’ll hardly recognise it. The Capitol spares no expense when it comes to the Quarter Quell!”

Katniss glanced at the escort’s face to see if she was being serious, or sarcastic, but Effie simply smiled, and patted her gold-hued hair. “Once we’re there, we’ll meet with your prep team and with Cinna, there he can take the final few measurements so he can complete the dress for your interview.”

“He’s almost done?” Katniss asked in surprise. She took a sharp intake of breath as she heard the call for the train doors to be opened.

“Yes, dear, he started it the moment the Quell was called. Said he had something spectacular, scene-stealing in mind. I must say that I’m waiting with bated breath to see it.”

“And...and Peeta? When will I be able to see him?”

At Katniss’s hesitant question, Effie patted her arm with a gentle smile. “We’ll see what we can do, dear.” With that, the door slid open, and the noise from the crowd grew tenfold.

And still, Katniss didn’t know when - or _if_ \- she would get to see Peeta before she entered the Arena.

********

Plutarch stood, arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed as his gaze switched from feed to feed that was being projected on the wall.

“Twelve just arrived,” he announced to no one in particular. But Peeta knew it was for him.

The trip from Four had taken less than half the time than that of travelling from Twelve, and Peeta had already showered, slept fitfully for 2 hours, and visited his family. And while that had been a waste of time according to his mother, the honest sorrow he’d seen in his father’s eyes had surprised him.

They’d talked of nothing important, basic conversations about the Reapings, who his family had their bets on. There was no surprise that Deliah Mellark couldn’t be shifted from her selection of Finnick Odair, but his father and brothers had quietly told him they hoped Katniss won. He appreciated it more than he’d ever thought, though he couldn’t fully express that. Not even to his family could he share the full extent of his feelings for her.

Eventually he’d headed to the cafe, hoping for news, and had been met by a room that was full of people bustling about, while Plutarch stood quietly studying the arrivals footage.

Peeta moved over from where he’d been speaking with Gaius, a historian of the Games who had become disillusioned with their depravity, and stood solemnly beside Plutarch, watching as Katniss moved from the train. She wasn’t smiling, looked tired, and he wanted nothing more than to run from the room, to her. But he knew he couldn’t.

“She looks angry. And scared,” Plutarch mused.

Peeta crossed his arms, feet firmly planted against the ground as he fought the urge to say what he really thought. Instead, his voice was light, deceptively so. “I could always tell her about the extraction plans. That may help with the fear.”

Plutarch sighed, turned away from the screen and lowered himself into a chair. “Peeta, you know we can’t. We can’t risk President Snow getting a whiff of what we’re planning.”

“But she knows about the rebellion, why can’t we trust her with _this_? You’re planning on telling Haymitch, right? Why not her?” He threw his hands up in frustration, but managed to keep his voice level. He dropped into the chair opposite Plutarch, waited for his answer.

“We told Katniss about the rebellion before this was even an issue. Back then we didn’t know this was going to happen, and I was willing to take the risk, willing to recruit her when I didn’t think she’d be going into an Arena again.”

“I have to remind you that you’re the one who sent her there,” Peeta said sarcastically, and Plutarch had the grace to nod his head in acknowledgement.

“You’re right, I am, and unfortunately I can't change that now, nor will I change my stance on telling Katniss. This is so much bigger, Peeta, and I can't afford to have Katniss preoccupied, watching the sky for a hovercraft to arrive. You know as well as I do that Katniss isn't known for having a poker face, and we can't have a _hint_ of an extraction being alluded to in the Arena." He paused, reached into his pocket and flicked open a small pocket watch, noting the time before slipping it back. He looked at Peeta, his face blank and unrevealing. “Not even all our allies going into the arena will be aware of our complete plans for this very reason. Yes, we’ve always planned on telling Haymitch, and now we’ll also be advising Finnick and Beetee Latier - because there needs to be people inside that Arena who know exactly what’s going on. The three of them are seasoned in dealings with the Capitol; they're pros, they know what they’re doing. But most of the others will only know that it’s imperative that they keep Katniss alive at all costs. Some of them…” he trailed off, and Peeta was surprised that he could sense the strain in Plutarch’s voice.

“Yes?”

“Some of them won’t come out of the Arena alive, Peeta. We weren’t expecting this, weren’t expecting that many sympathisers to be reaped.”

Peeta’s mouth dropped open. “You promised me they would all be saved. You _promised_.”

Plutarch held his hands up in supplication. “I’m sorry, Peeta. We couldn’t have anticipated this.”

Peeta scoffed. “You anticipate everything, Plutarch. That’s your job as Head Gamemaker,” he shot back.

“Sometimes you can't. Sometimes the odds just simply _aren’t_ in your favour,” Plutarch said firmly.

Peeta's jaw clenched in frustration, and as much as he wanted to spew forth a verbal tirade at the Gamemaker, he couldn't find the words. He wasn't even sure he'd know what to say if he found them anyway. Finally, Plutarch spoke up, glancing up at the screen that showed a now empty train platform. “It will work, Peeta; she will come out. After all, this is for Katniss. It’s all for the Mockingjay.”

Peeta only wished he could have the confidence Plutarch Heavensbee had.

********

Katniss flew into his arms, and they wrapped tightly around her. They were strong, and comforting, and he murmured a quiet _'it's okay'_ into her ear. But she didn't let him go.

"Katniss," he finally said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "You need to let me go if we're going to get started."

Reluctantly she pulled away, glanced up into deep brown eyes that didn’t give her pity like so many others, but simple understanding. Cinna knew she didn't want his pity.

"I hear you've almost finished with my dress," she began, and he laughed.

"That’s true. But you don't really care about that do you, Katniss?" Cinna reached out and shucked her chin, before leading her to the sofa in the lounge of her training quarters. Finally, they were blessedly alone after an hour of Effie fussing, Haymitch snarling and her prep team running around like frantic rabbits. "How are you?"

"About as good as you'd expect," she replied.

"And your mother and Prim?"

Katniss shrugged. "I couldn’t say. They didn't let me say goodbye."

Cinna's eyes darkened to almost black. "I see," he said quietly. He took her hand in his, squeezed it gently. In a conscious effort to change the topic, he glanced over his shoulder down the hallway where a shout, followed by a string of curses, came from. "I believe Portia will have her hands full this year."

Katniss snorted. "Without a doubt," she agreed. "It's tough enough getting Haymitch to let go of his flask, let along change out of his pants."

Cinna chuckled. "Either way, it makes things interesting." Crossing his legs at the ankles, he looked at her seriously. "I don't have too many measurements to take for your dress for the interview, so this won't take long. And then the prep team want their hands on you for the Tribute Parade."

"Of course they do." She rolled her eyes. "Because I look _like I haven't slept in a month!_ , as Octavia delightfully told me. Which is pretty close to the truth anyway."

"Never mind them," Cinna reminded her quietly. The calm that exuded from him never failed to soothe her. "They don't know any better than what they know."

"Yeah," she acquiesced. "But sometimes I wish they did though."

"Don't we all." He stood, pulled her up with him by the hand. "Come now, let me size you up so I can finish this dress."

"What's it like?" She asked curiously.

Cinna winked. "It's a surprise. But you'll still have to twirl for me, Girl on Fire." She smiled, then pulled up abruptly as she realised she was exactly where she was this time last year. In the training centre, ready to be poked and prodded and pinched, about to get dressed up for the Capitol, twirling for Caesar.

_It really had all been for nothing._

She was quiet as Cinna finished making sure his measurements were correct, allowed her prep team to be loud and extravagant and excitable when they returned and led her downstairs to the new Makeover Centre. Its walls had been painted teal blue, chandeliers that looked like they were created from teardrops hanging from the ceiling. It was vastly different from the silver and grey centre of the year before, and Katniss barely retained the sneer at the sheer and utter waste. The money spent on this renovation could have done so many better things around Panem.

Cinna watched the proceedings from the side with a faint smile, catching Katniss' eye and giving her a reassuring nod as Octavia attacked her eyebrows, and as Flavius inspected her hair for torn ends or split ends or something she just didn't care about. There was more to come - they'd drag her off soon enough for a body polish and to remove every errant piece of hair from her body in the most painful way possible - and part of her wondered how Haymitch was getting by. The laugh slipped from her lips before she could hold it back. If there was one thing getting her through this, it was the idea that Haymitch was being primped and preened as much as she was.

With the state of his eyebrows, probably even more.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and the evening even quicker. The Tribute Parade was nothing more than a farce, and Katniss ignored everything and everyone. Even the sight of Cinna's new creations - giving the impression of the simmering after a fire - did nothing but make her frustrated that she was even in this position again. Afterwards, dinner was almost boisterous, though it felt forced and unnatural – the tight smiles of Cinna and Portia, the over exaggeration of every compliment over the meal by Effie. Haymitch’s contribution was sarcastic responses to whatever Effie said, Katniss’ nothing at all. She was still startled by the sight of Haymitch’s trimmed hair and smoothly shaven jaw to say anything.

She went to bed alone, no promise of Peeta, or even Prim in the next room. Nightmares filled her head until sun-up, and she woke no better rested than she had when she’d lain down. She tried to jolt some life into her by taking a shower so hot it almost scalded her skin, the water beating down on her in jet streams that flowed from a dozen taps that surrounded her at varying heights, then scrubbed at her body with a frothy soap that smelt like the forest, that she’d scented on Peeta’s skin every time he visited her. She may not have felt alive afterwards, but at least she felt awake.

Her clothes had already been laid out on her bed by the time she stepped out, the black and white form-fitting outfit she was to wear in the training centre. This time, she noted, there was no identifying marks of what District she was from, nothing that screamed ‘Twelve’. She supposed it didn’t really matter where they came from this time – they were all simply Victors turned Tributes.

Stepping out into the hall, she wandered down it towards voices that were murmuring quietly. She wasn’t surprised to find Haymitch and Cinna in deep conversation in the foyer.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Peachy,” Haymitch replied, turning to face her. “You eaten?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want anything.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly. “Can we just go? Effie will shoot us if we’re late down to the Training Levels.”

“I got worse things to worry about than her,” Haymitch drawled. “But I suppose we should go.”

He and Cinna clasped hands, shook them firmly, and Katniss welcomed the small squeeze on her own hand from Cinna before he took the elevator that didn’t venture down to the sub-levels.

Haymitch pressed the button for the second elevator, rocked back on his heels. “You know, sweetheart,” he began as the doors slid open and they stepped inside. “I think this is the first time since before my Games that a Mentor has had to be a Tribute as well.”

“Hmmm?” Katniss replied noncommittally. She knew this already, had already worried what they would do for sponsors with them both being in the Arena. She’d eventually realised that there were going to be no silver parachutes heading their way.

“Yeah. So listen to what I have to say.” His abrupt change in tone – short, sharp, not the slightest bit lazy – caused her to look at him in surprise. “There's no more pussy footing around. You’ve watched the videos – great. But these tributes? They’re going to be different animals now – some leaner and tougher, others older and fatter. You’re going to get your first proper glimpse of these people in about 2 minutes, and I need you to take this seriously.”

“I am-” she began to interrupt indignantly, feeling her hackles begin to rise, but he barrelled over the top of her.

“You need to determine who you’re going to avoid, who to discount – and most importantly, who you want to ally with.”

“What?” Katniss’ mouth dropped open. “ _Ally with_? What the hell do we need allies for? One of us just needs to get out alive.”

“And we’re going to need people to help us do that. You’re the wild card here, the newbie. They’ve known each other for years, and they’re not going to give two shits that you’re my District partner, sweetheart. I’m not going to get us allies alone. Which means you have to pull your weight.”

Katniss gaped at him, wondering why he’d drop this so bluntly on her _now_ , of all times, when they were just about to step into the Training Centre for the first time. “A little forward notice would have been nice,” she snapped at him, "Instead of dropping this on me at the last minute."

He smirked. “I was hoping to get some of that sass back in you,” he retorted. “It's been sadly lacking, and you need to show them you’re not scared, that you’re up to the challenge. Otherwise you’ll be the first one they go for.” The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open, revealing a long, black corridor. He began walking down it to the wide doors at the end, before turning back to her. “Find us some allies, sweetheart. And I’ll see at the end of the day if I agree with you.”

She stalked after him, anger, annoyance - and nowhere near as much fear as before – coursing through her. She didn’t need allies, she didn’t need _friends_.

She just needed to get out of that Arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, for your kudos and comments :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as sponsormusings.


	14. Chapter 14

It was a bitter stench of vomit, bleach and liquor that hit Katniss as she stepped into the training centre, slapping her in the face like a strong, putrid wave. She fought the urge to cover her nose, instead breathing in deeply and scanning the room with her chin held high. After Haymitch’s words to her in the hallway, the last thing she wanted to show _any_ of the other Tributes was a weakness.

Just like the remake centre and the penthouse, the training centre appeared to have been completely remodelled. Everything was grey and silver, with straight lines, no comfort and little fanfare. Most of the stations looked to still be hands on - either skill or survival based - and there were plenty of weapons of all shapes and sizes dotted about the cavernous area. There were a few stations with skills that she didn’t remember from last time, and she spied a number of closed off rooms lining the back wall. She wondered vaguely what they were, but figured she had plenty of time over the next three days to find out without worrying over it now.

Katniss studied those around her, and for all the build-up Haymitch had given, her first impression left her strangely disappointed. Some slumped aimlessly on a bench, studiously ignoring the man at the end who had upended his breakfast on the cold granite floor. Another two - Katniss assumed they were the Morphlings from their emaciated frames - huddled in a corner, covering their eyes from the bright lights beaming down from the ceiling. Finnick stood off to the side at the closest station, smiling at the elderly woman she recognised as Mags, as they twisted knots and loops into fishing hooks and wire. None of them seemed particularly threatening - other than perhaps Finnick, but that was more from the fact he was at least ten years younger than most everyone else.

She had to renege on her own thoughts, though, as she followed Haymitch around a corner and was faced with this years Careers.

The blonde and buff brother and sister from One – Gloss and Cashmere - stood polishing knives on the smooth fabric of their training shirts, as they cast furtive glances around the room. His biceps were the size of Katniss' head, and bulged with every movement. She swallowed heavily but kept her gaze steady as Cashmere pinned her with a glare.

_No allies there, that’s for sure._

Brutus and Enobaria stood just behind them, weighing up spears as though they were childs toys. They communicated with each other in barely understandable snarls and hand gestures, and Katniss knew they weren’t going to ally with anyone other than each other - maybe One at a stretch. Not that she’d want to anyway. If Haymitch was insistent on allies, she certainly didn’t want one who could rip out her throat in an instant with their cosmetically altered pointer teeth.

“Where to first, sweetheart?” Haymitch sidled up beside her, arms folded across his chest. He glanced around the room, and she followed his gaze.

“We don’t have a pep talk?” she asked shortly.

He snorted. “We all know what we’re doing this time - no one forgets what it's like to go into that hell. Atala doesn’t need to be here for this.” He scratched at his jaw, and Katniss could see the annoyance on his face at the lack of gritty stubble. “What if we split up for a while? See what we see, speak to who we speak to.”

“Fine with me. I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

He rolled his eyes, then lowered his voice. “Yank your panties out of the twist you’ve got them in, sweetheart. I’m telling you to find allies for your own good.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, and walked away. She wasn’t in the mood for Haymitch and his shit right now.

Over the next half an hour the tributes to begin to drift towards training stations. Some headed for what was familiar to them, what they were used to, what they were good at. Katniss supposed by now they all knew what everyone’s strengths and weaknesses were.

_Everyone but her_. _Old highlight reels couldn’t tell her everything._

She worked quietly in the snares area, studied the tributes closest to her as they moved from station to station. She watched the two from Three as they tried - and failed - to start a fire with a stick and their bare hands. It was the survivalist in her that pushed her to her feet and made her stalk over to them.

“Your hands are too static,” Katniss told them bluntly, and they both looked up at her in surprise. The man - _Beetee, she reminded herself_ \- blinked owlishly behind his glasses. “You need to move them up and down the stick like this, fast.” She pressed her palms together in front of her, mimicking rubbing them together. He copied her, began to move his hands in identical movements - it didn’t take long for short plumes of smoke to begin to curl from the base of the stick and the crack of a flame to start. The female tribute hooted, and clapped her hands together in glee, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet.

“Thank you, Miss Everdeen,” Beetee said quietly. “At least I know that Wiress and I won’t freeze to death in the arena.”

“No freezing for us!” Wiress called out abruptly, louder than Katniss would have liked. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see that no one was paying them any attention at the older woman’s outburst.

Beetee chuckled, and she turned back to him, eyebrow raised in question. “Don’t worry. They won’t pay her no never mind, Miss Everdeen. Just like those men up there won't either.” He tipped his head to the side, up to where the Gamemakers were situated. They were more observant this year, by far, but Beetee was right. None of them were so much as glancing towards their station; they were too busy watching Finnick wield his trident, and as Johanna Mason whacked the hell out of a mannequin with a whirling axe.

Happy that, by being with Beetee and Wiress she was virtually being ignored, she sat with them a little longer, taught them how to set a simple snare. They, in turn, pointed out to her the technology that was being used within the room that, to the naked eye, wasn’t even visible. Force fields separated the Gamemakers to the training floor, and the rooms lining the back wall were full of criss-crossing beams that, when activated, would become holographic images.

She watched them as they finished each other’s sentences, as they used words she’d never heard of, as they laughed at private jokes that no one else would ever understand. And smiled.

Katniss didn’t care what Haymitch thought. Beetee and Wiress were at the top of her list of potential allies.

Mags joined the list not long after, as she and Katniss worked in relative silence together. The old woman had still been at the same station she’d been at when Katniss entered, her old wrinkled fingers surprisingly nimble as they worked thin threads in a multitude of colours - magenta, navy, peach, chartreuse - around an old fashioned fishing hook. She'd smiled as Katniss had watched her, then gestured to her impatiently; she'd been showing Katniss how to make the most effective lures for fishing ever since.

It didn't matter if it wasn't a skill she’d need in the arena. She knew what she was doing in _there_ , knew what she had to try and do for either herself or Haymitch to win. What mattered now was simply trying to keep her mind from where it wanted to wander to the most - the games themselves. And if that included playing knots with an old woman with a garbled voice who deserved to live out her remaining days at home by the beach, then that's what she'd do.

Lunch came and went, and although she forced down a few morsels of food - green tinged bread that, through gestures from Mags, she was able to determine was from Four - she still couldn't stomach anything substantial. Haymitch, on the other hand, wolfed down food as though he hadn’t eaten in a year, snickering and making smart ass comments with Chaff from Eleven.

_No surprises who he had on his list of allies._

Eventually - after listening to Finnick boast of a party he’d been to in the Capitol only the week before - she excused herself from the table. Ignoring the look of confusion from Haymitch and the looks of utter disdain from the Careers, she moved to one of the hologram training rooms. She carefully removed a silver edged bow from the wall, the feel and shape of it heavy and foreign in her hands. It had been so long since she’d escaped to the woods and hunted that she physically ached from missing it. She would never have that freedom, that connection, to her woods and her father again.

She set the program to 'Archer-Advanced' and stepped into the room, the clear glass doors sliding closed behind her. The lights dimmed, a faint hum echoed in her ears as the system whirred to life. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath, nocked the arrow, pulled lightly at the string, and waited silently.

She heard the footsteps behind her before she saw anything, and whirled on the balls of her feet. The yellow tinged hologram was heading straight for her, and even though she knew it wasn't real, her heart stuttered and turned, her throat closed up nervously. Then instinct kicked in.

She didn’t even think, simple survival shifting her body and the aim of the arrow as she took down imaginary foe after imaginary foe. An arrow in the forehead, one in the heart, one in the back, one through the neck. The sight of that, so eerily similar to Marvel's death, almost caused her to start, but she shook her head.

_No weaknesses_.

They were unrepentant, kept coming at her from every angle, every weapon she could think of in their hand. Her heart raced, her chest burned, her breath panted and strained. With a single half turn, she dropped to her knee, raised the bow so that it was aimed towards the ceiling and the figure bearing down on her from the rafters.

The hologram cracked and splintered above her with an arrow to the eye.

The lights suddenly brightened and the humming stopped, indicating the session was over. She closed her eyes briefly, caught her breath and waited for her heart to stop pounding. And when she turned, swiping a hand across a sweaty brow, she found every person in the training centre watching her.

********

He couldn't believe where he was. If anyone had told him 5 years ago, 1 year ago - _hell, even 6 months ago_ \- that he would be here, he would have laughed in their face. Somehow, Peeta Mellark had found himself in the most powerful room in Panem.

_He was in the Control Centre._

"We could press the green button now," Plutarch was saying boastfully as he circled the room, hands linked in front of his belly. "The final piece was finalised today. If the Tributes were ready, we could get the show on the road."

"Well, yes, no doubt," came the wry reply, laced with a chuckle. "But we _do_ have protocol we have to adhere to first."

_Of course we do_ , Peeta thought, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes towards the President. Snow might change the rules when they suited him, but he was arguably stubborn on everything he thought to be right - including schedules.

Peeta lifted his camera, deftly adjusting the zoom as he focused on the centre of the room where, in two days, a hologram depicting the Arena would appear. It wasn't there now - Panem forbid any secret about the layout be revealed before the games actually started - but even without it, Capitolites would go crazy for images from ground control.

It had been Plutarch’s idea, a way for Peeta to be able to keep an eye on Katniss and to be a conduit between Plutarch - who wouldn't leave the centre until the last moment, not even to sleep - and the rest of the rebels in the Capitol. Of course, it hadn't been sold to Snow that way the evening before - instead Plutarch had convinced him that documenting _everything_ in these games, including behind the scenes, would result in it being the most remembered games in history.

And as Snow was all about lasting impressions, he’d agreed before Plutarch could even suggest Peeta be the photographer. That had already been a given.

"This was a good idea, Heavensbee," Snow mused, turning about the room thoughtfully. The only other sound was the faint click of Peeta’s camera. "There's always been an air of...mystique about the games. Perhaps this year is the one to give our citizens that insider look."

"I’m certain they will eat it up," Plutarch said confidently.

"And it will no doubt help in averting their interest after the great romance comes to an end." Peeta could feel Snow’s insistent gaze bearing down between his shoulder blades, and he turned, lowering the camera so it hung loosely around his neck. He hoped the overwhelming feeling of hatred that coursed through his veins wasn't obvious on his face.

"That's true," Peeta managed to edge out. "It will definitely prove to be an exciting distraction for them."

Snow nodded, lowered himself into one of the deep blue chairs designed for the Executors - those responsible for pressing the final button for the canon, for preparing the call for the hovercraft - and leant back in it casually, his fingertips tapping on the arms of the chair. "I've been meaning to speak with you in regards to that, Mr Mellark. I think now that Miss Everdeen is in the Capitol, you could afford to pay her a little...visit. You haven't seen her since she was reaped; I'm sure she - and our citizens - would be happy to have a reunion of sorts."

Peeta swallowed heavily, and nodded. He’d already planned on doing that tonight, sneaking over to the training centre to visit her once he was finished here and her training done for the day. But now, with it feeling like a directive from Snow, it left a bitter taste in his mouth and lined his stomach with dread.

"Yes, it's a good idea," Peeta agreed finally. "I was going to try to, of course, and tonight is as good as any."

"Good, good, we'll see to it you have access to the penthouse," Snow confirmed, crossing one leg over the other. He coughed lightly, hiding it discreetly behind his hand before continuing. "I'm certain you can't wait for this charade to be over, Mr Mellark, now that it’s almost nearing its end. Victors are all well and good for a season, a night, a few hours between the sheets to the highest bidder. But long term, a relationship? Not ideal. And not one I’d recommend for an up and comer in Capitol society such as yourself.”

Peeta felt his hand clench into a fist at his side, his short fingernails digging into his palms. It was the first time Snow had explicitly referred to the sale of a Victor in front of him, and though he already knew it to be true, _hearing_ it so blatantly and dismissively set his blood boiling. _The sick bastard._ He opened his mouth, and took half a step forward. Suddenly Plutarch’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, his fingers digging into his shoulder blade.

"True, too true," Plutarch said almost jovially, and Peeta glanced up long enough to see the warning light in the Gamemakers eyes. "Much better for you to be seen with someone like Harmonie Newton or Jewel Petersen on your arm. Plus it means you'll be able to focus solely on your new career, Peeta. Which, of course, is exciting."

"Yes. It is," he managed to bite out in response, forcing his mouth into a wide grin. “The opportunities are endless.”

Snow smiled, sly and cunning, and looked around the room again. "We make a good team, gentlemen. I think these games _do_ have the possibility of being the best ever."

"The best ever," Peeta echoed, as Plutarch nodded enthusiastically.

_The last ever_ , he thought, and hoped with every fibre of his being that that would be true.

********

_“Peeta! How do you think Katniss is coping?”_

_“Her odds are high - do you think she can win?”_

_“Do you wish you had more time together?!”_

The questions came thick and fast as Peeta pushed through the final security barrier into the Training Compound. They echoed in his ears, even as his feet carried him further and further away from the throng of journalists who were camped out on the border.

He should have known the minute Snow suggested he reunite with Katniss, part of it would be turned into a media circus – he wasn’t stupid enough to think the journalists were always here, all the time. But, considering he wasn’t strictly allowed to enter the training centre, he was begrudgingly thankful - for the first and last time - of Snow’s influence. At least he could get in and see her without reverting to cloak and dagger entry, which is what he’d initially assumed he would have to do.

He jogged the final few metres, flashed the security pass Plutarch had given him at the Peacekeepers guarding the door, and quickly made his way to the elevator bank. He knew Katniss would be released from training soon, and he wanted to get upstairs to the rooftop before she got back. Holographs were dangerous to use outside – change in weather, shifting in light, external sounds that couldn’t be controlled – so instead he was using plain old misdirection. He had to jam the audio feed and realign the cameras so that he could ensure them at least some privacy from the surveillance that was always present. Plutarch himself had overseen the installation of the upgraded system in the new Training Centre and Tribute suites - he knew its flaws, knew his way around it, and had given Peeta a crash course in re-wiring it with a router without being detected.

Somehow, with the combination of his guidance with surveillance and the idea of Peeta photographing the Control Centre, he had the feeling Plutarch was feeling just a little guilty.

The doors to the penthouse slid open, and he watched as Effie’s eyes popped open in surprise at the sight of him from her place on the sofa. “Peeta! I didn’t expect to see you!”

He smiled. “Hello Effie, it’s nice to see you too.”

She blushed, flustered at her lack of manners, and rose. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, it is good to see you.” She walked over to him on her 6 inch heeled silver boots, air-kissed both of his cheeks. “I’m just a little surprised.”

“President Snow and Mr Heavensbee organised a security pass for me,” he said simply. “I thought it would be nice if I surprised Katniss up on the rooftop.”

Effie opened her mouth, then closed it again, and simply nodded. “Yes, I believe that would be a nice idea. If you want to go up and wait, I can tell her once she returns from training.”

Peeta smiled, squeezed her hand with his. “That would be good, thank you Effie.” She smiled, then gestured down the hallway towards the door that led to the roof.

He didn’t waste time once he was up there, discreetly aiming the jammer towards where he knew the closest mic was. He waited for the faint beep from the jammer to sound, indicating that he’d been successful in overriding it with a soundtrack he and Plutarch had quickly created once Snow had returned to the mansion. It was of he and Katniss having simple conversations about her training, about his new role; things they’d be expected to speak of. All he needed to do was press play when she arrived.

He used the same jammer to quickly misdirect three cameras just slightly, affording them a 5x5 square of space where he could assure they wouldn’t be caught on camera. He just wanted ten minutes of privacy with her, ten minutes knowing that people weren't watching or listening. He just wanted ten minutes free from pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Peeta leant against a high brick wall, closed his eyes, and waited.

********

“So, sweetheart, what do you think?” Haymitch lent against the wall of the elevator, folded his arms across his chest. He was sweaty, his face bright red and sporting a cut across the cheekbone that would surely send his Prep Team into a tizzy. She still wasn’t sure why both he and Matthias from Six had thought it a good idea to play with the knives while blindfolded. “Got any opinions on our fellow Victors?”

She shrugged, and yawned. “Finnick is an egotistical peacock. One and Two are assholes, and have no intention of allying with anyone. Johanna Mason is prickly and rude and would probably lob her axe into my head if she got the chance.” Katniss rattled off her opinions flatly, too tired to even be enthusiastic. She hadn’t expected him to demand her thoughts so soon after leaving the training hall, before she’d really finished cataloguing them.

“Tell me how you really feel,” he drawled, eyes shifting to the numbers as they lit up, indicating the floor they were passing. “And quickly, would ya? We’re almost there, and Effie will be nattering in our faces as soon as these doors open.”

Katniss sighed and rubbed the small of her back, where it throbbed and ached from where she’d taken a tumble from the high ropes late in the afternoon. “Fine. Three, and Mags.”

“What?” Haymitch’s mouth dropped open and he looked at her incredulously. “Did you seriously just say the tributes from Three, and _Mags_? 80 year old _Mags_?”

“I thought you liked her,” Katniss snapped.

“I do - _socially_. Shit, Katniss, could you have picked any more useless allies?”

“Screw you, Haymitch,” she snapped, thankful when the doors slid open into the Penthouse. “You asked, I answered.”

“Not very well,” he snorted. She stormed over to where Effie was waiting, her purple painted mouth already opening to greet them; they both ignored her. “I’ll have you know over half of them approached me about being allies after that display of yours.”

Katniss whirled, turned to face him as he followed her out of the elevator. “What?”

“Your little archery lesson. Couldn’t have done a better job of lining up allies myself, sweetheart. They all want you.” He stepped towards the buffet, and the spread of crystal decanters filled with various liquors. He picked one up at random, took a slug straight from the bottle before replacing the stopper and plonking it back down on the glass top.

“Well, I don’t want them.” She placed her hands firmly on her hips. “I want Mags and Beetee and Wiress.”

“It’s not a good move,” Haymitch warned.

“Then don’t ask me my opinion next time,” she retorted, and spun on her heel. “I’m getting the hell out of these clothes. Don’t bother me for dinner.” She streamed past Effie without a second glance, her feet stomping loudly across the floor, and headed to her room. The slammed door echoed through the apartment, followed by the more muted thud of the door to her bathroom.

Katniss yanked off her training uniform, throwing it into the corner of the room and pressing the buttons on the shower to her usual setting. She stepped under the spray, let the water pound against her sore back, down onto her head where a faint headache was drumming under her temples. She scrubbed at her hair with shampoo that smelled faintly of honeysuckle, her fingers digging into her scalp more than she needed to.

With a sigh, she admitted that she wasn’t only angry at Haymitch, she was angry with herself. Because part of her knew that he was right, and she simply didn’t care. She knew that allying with someone like Johanna or the tributes from Six might make more sense, strategically. But she also knew that if she was going to die, she wanted it to be around people she actually _liked_. And in the end, it really didn’t matter – Snow had orchestrated all of this for her to die anyway. Would it really make that much of a difference?

Plus, she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally after her day in the training centre and now her altercation with Haymitch. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to curl up under the covers and not come out again - but the idea of going to bed also filled her with dread, with a sense of impending terror, and she didn’t want that.

Stepping out of the shower into the air-dryer, she allowed the hot air to dry her skin, to soften her hair until it fell in a straight, silky line down her back. She slipped back into her room, dug out a thin cotton dress the colour of emeralds that had wide straps, a v neck, and fell to just above her knees, from the drawer. She tugged it over her head, and begrudgingly told herself to go and apologise to Haymitch before she attempted to go to bed. He was, after all, only trying to look out for her. But a knock sounded on the door before she could, and it slid open to reveal Effie.

“I know, I know,” Katniss mumbled. “I’m just about to go and apologise to him.”

Effie shook her head. “Oh, I’m not here about that, Katniss. Goodness knows Haymitch needs a good talking to every so often. He’s so crotchety sometimes that he deserves it when people call him on his manners.” Katniss raised an eyebrow slightly – _manners weren’t something neither she nor Haymitch were very good with_ – and shrugged.

“Ok then. Is there something else?”

Effie looked over her shoulder, and then leant in half an inch towards Katniss. She almost looked like she was going to topple over from the weight of the dress she was wearing. “Peeta is here,” she whispered, and Katniss stiffened.

“Peeta’s here?” she hissed. “Where? When? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Effie tutted. “Well, dear, you _did_ just storm inside, argue with Haymitch, then come right here, not really giving me a moment to tell you. But he hasn’t been here long, I promise.”

“Where is he?” she asked desperately.

“On the rooftop,” Effie said simply, then looked at her watch. “I’ll still excuse you from dinner. I suppose I’ll continue to keep Haymitch occupied with his liquid one. I swear, all that hard work that man put into training, he’s going to blow it all away tonight…” She trailed off as Katniss pressed a quick kiss to her powdered cheek, and slipped past her.

“Thank you, Effie,” Katniss said, and headed for the door at the end of the hall.She grasped the smooth silver handle in her hand eagerly and pulled the door open, the fresh air from outside a welcome change to the climate control of the penthouse.  She took the stairs two at a time, up to the rooftop, and its open air garden; she was thankful to see that it was one place that was relatively unchanged from last year. Night had fallen, the sky above an inky black dotted with stars that flashed and winked like diamonds. Windchimes still danced in the evening breeze, bright yellow flowers tumbled from baskets hanging from arbors covered in plum coloured blooms. Soft lights lined the pathway, guiding her to the ledge that overlooked the Capitol below.

Katniss watched as he stepped out from behind a wall of pale orange flowers, looking as exhausted as she felt. Even with his face in partial shadow, she could see how tired and haggard his face was. _What had been going on since she’d seen him last for him to look that way? Anyone would think he’d been spending time in the training centre just like she had._

“Katniss,” he said quietly, moving towards her. She took three steps, slowly, almost hesitantly. The final two were quick, and then she was in his arms; they were wrapped around her tightly, his face buried in the curve of her neck. His breath was warm on her skin and even though it sent a shiver down her spine, all she could think was _Mine. Home._

_How far she’d come from never wanting anyone in her life like this._

They simply stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the stress and worry from the last few days ebbing away in the comfort the other provided. The air was quiet around them, even the sounds of the Capitol below muffled and distant. Peeta’s heart pounded in a slow rhythm against hers, steadying her in a way she hadn’t felt since the last time he’d left Twelve.

"Sorry I didn't come up straight away," she finally said softly, turning her head so her mouth was close to his ear. "Haymitch and I had a fight, and then Effie didn’t tell me until after I'd changed."

"It's ok." He pulled away slightly so that he was looking directly at her. "I haven't been here long. And I needed a moment anyway - I had to jam the surveillance feeds." Katniss felt a hint of relief trickling in as she realised they could speak freely. "Is everything ok with Haymitch?"

She reached up, brushed a wayward lock of hair from his forehead. "As they’ll ever be. I skipped dinner; he’s apparently having a liquid one - falling into old habits. I’m fine now. Are _you_ alright?"

Peeta nodded. "I'm fine. I just missed you. It feels like forever since we saw each other last."

"It was," she said simply. With another sigh, he nodded again, then rested his forehead against hers. He didn't say anything, just looked at her, his eyes heavy lidded and sad. "Peeta, what's wrong?"

Peeta's hold on her tightened, his fingers digging into her waist. "It's just..." he trailed off, squeezed his eyes shut.

_He was scaring her. She'd never seen him like this, had never seen him so shaken, at such a loss for words. If he was a wreck, how was she supposed to be? He was the strong one, helping her get through this, and if he couldn't be..._

"Peeta," she murmured quietly. "Tell me what's wrong."

He shook his head, exhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering open. "I just...I just feel I'm losing control, like I’m not _me_ anymore. I almost said something to Snow today, something that would have blown it all apart, but Plutarch managed to stop me at the last moment. How am I going to continue to look at this man every day, knowing what he's doing to you, and not want to punch his smug face in? I’m being torn into pieces trying to keep the facade going, and I’m not sure how much longer I can go on." The final few words came out in a rush, almost tumbling over each other in their hurry to get free.

Peeta pulled away from her abruptly, ran his hands through his hair, then rested them on the ledge. The knuckles were white with pressure, his shoulders taut with tension. "He stood there today and said to my face how a relationship with you isn’t ‘ideal’ for me. That Victors are only good for a roll between the sheets to the highest bidder.” He spat the words out as though they were bitter on his tongue. Which, she supposed, as the words caused her own jaw to clench, they were.

“Peeta, you can’t give up on all this now. Not when you’ve been a part of it for so long, and...and the rebellion is so close. Whatever their plans are, I know it’s going to make Panem a better place, one that Mom and Prim are going to be so much safer in.”

She saw him close his eyes, swallow deeply. “You say that as though you’re already gone,” he muttered.

She moved beside him, her throat closing tightly as she looked down to the bustling streets below. “I'm going to try and win, Peeta, but when it comes down to it...It’s what Snow wants. I kind of already am.”

Peeta turned to her then, gripped her upper arms with his hands. “No, you’re not,” he practically growled, and she blinked at the change in his voice. “You’re _not_ gone. I told you we’re going to do whatever it takes to save you, to help you...win.”

“How?” Her own voice rose as she shrugged his arms off, and a thick lock of hair fell over her face as she pushed him away. She felt the frustration from the day and her argument with Haymitch rise again. “In two days I’m going into the Arena, and I’ve heard nothing - _nothing_ \- about the rebellion! All I’ve heard is how I’m going to come out of there _and I don’t know that for sure, Peeta!_ So I have to think logically. There’s 22 of them, then me and Haymitch – only one comes out. Those are not good odds!” She glared at him. “You give me hope, you give me the hope that I might be able to come out of this arena alive. But words mean _nothing_ Peeta, without something to back them up. So what am I meant to think?!” She pushed the hair out of her face, wrapped her arms around her waist.   _She hated the fact that their reunion had so quickly and suddenly degenerated into this._

Peeta stood, his arms hanging limply at his sides before he scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Just….trust me when I say I’m doing everything I can,” he muttered desperately. “I promise.”

She shook her head. “What aren’t you telling me, Peeta?”

“I can’t,” he bit out.

“Why not?!”

She watched as his jaw tensed, as his lips firmed together, and when he spoke, his voice cracked. “Because if I do, it will ruin everything. If I ruin it, you die. And that’s not something I’ll let happen.”

Katniss inhaled sharply at the certainty in his words, and the longer she studied him, the more the realisation set in. _He truly believed what he said_. “There really is something being planned,” she murmured finally. “I...I thought you were just saying that to appease me, to appease Haymitch.”

His mouth dropped open. “Why would I do that? Katniss, I’m not going to find you just to let you go again. I wish you’d believe me.”

She tangled her fingers in the end of her braid, twisting it around her pointer finger tighter and tighter until she felt a faint throb in the tip. “I want to, Peeta, I do…”

“But?”

“I just can’t be hopeful, not that much. I can’t afford to think like that.”

“You have to,” he said pleadingly, and stalked over to her, cupping her cheeks in his hands. His eyes were fierce and blue and intense, and she reached her hands up to clutch at his forearms. “You have to come back out, to me, to Prim, to your Mom. You have to believe in yourself, Katniss, that you can win. That you can make it out.” He punctuated the end of each sentence with a kiss on her forehead, at the corner of her eye, to her cheekbone.

“I…” her voice broke on the words as his mouth landed at the corner of her lips. She wanted him to move so that his mouth captured hers – it had been long, too long, since he’d kissed her last. “I’ll try. It’s all I can promise.”

“Then it’s all I’ll ask,” Peeta replied, then crushed his mouth to hers. His hands slid down to her waist and yanked her against him, so that they aligned shoulder to knee, their bodies almost fused together. This time when his heart pounded against her chest it was erratic, thudding like a drum, and she swore hers was the same.

Her lips parted, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it lightly. His hands clutched at the thin fabric of her dress, slid down so they curved over and around the subtle flare of her hips. She jerked involuntarily, causing her to draw into him closer, and they both gasped at the touch.

She slanted her mouth hungrily over his, tangling one of her hands in his hair, gripping onto it and tugging lightly until he moaned into her mouth.  The other hand slid down his back, and up his shirt, his flesh warm and smooth under her fingers. Everything about the kiss made her bones feel like jelly, and her belly quivered with a need she knew only ever sprung to life around him. She shivered at the idea of feeling his skin against hers, of what it would feel like if he hovered over her, if his hands drifted over her body and his mouth followed suit. She wondered if it would ever happen, whether she would ever be able to share anything like that with him. Wondered whether she’d ever be able to do something as simple as hug him, or link her fingers through his, without being under scrutiny.

So she swore to herself that she would try to win. For her mom. For Prim.  For Peeta.

But mostly for herself. So that she could live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your comments and kudos. Every single one makes my day :)


	15. Chapter 15

Peeta sat in the back corner of the bar - at his usual table - with his back to the wall and an eye on the door.  He trailed a finger through the condensation on the wooden top, a result of the half-empty glass that sat in front of him, and traced looping patterns that dried almost immediately after he’d made them. His brain wouldn’t stop, the information Plutarch had outlined to him less than an hour before still forefront in his mind. And he only had a total of 15 minutes to explain it as best he could to his contact before they had to head back to their official duties.

It was going to be tight, and in the time they had, he had to make sure that no-one recognised them together. They couldn’t afford it, not right now. Not when their association wasn’t supposed to be anything more than as acquaintances to the general public.

He watched in interest as the doors slid open and a lone man strolled in, his hair pale lavender to match the intricate - and decidedly ugly - cravat tied around his throat. The knee-length jacket he wore wasn’t pretty either, an eyesore of patterns that reminded Peeta of the time Aaran had dropped a tray of frosting jars in the bakery when they were young. The different shades of frosting had merged into each other over the white tiled surface, an ugly conglomeration of colours that had taken hours to clean up.  But if Peeta hadn’t known who he was looking for, he wouldn’t have looked twice, other than to perhaps wince absently at the uncoordinated outfit. He also wouldn’t have recognised him one bit.

Cinna, apparently, was very, very good at going incognito.

He ordered a drink at the bar - bright green and bubbly - before strolling between other patrons and settling himself across from Peeta. He was overtly casual about it all, blasé, gave off an air of uninterested importance. It made Peeta smile at how different _this_ Cinna was to the real one.

“Cressida didn’t do your outfit justice when she described it,” Peeta started with a chuckle, and the corner of Cinna’s mouth rose in reply.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” he asked smoothly. “It’s all about misdirection.”

“True. And in that awful get-up, no one would think underneath it all was Cinna, stylist extraordinaire.”

“Exactly,” Cinna nodded, dutifully sipping at the drink, and he winced at the overly sweet concoction. “This is disgusting.”

“So is that jacket,” Peeta countered, and they both smiled in agreement. Then Peeta cleared his throat, sat forward in his seat and lowered his voice slightly. “We don't have long, so I’m going to get through this as quickly as possible. What I’m telling you needs to get to Haymitch, Finnick and Beetee. Do your best to get the info to Haymitch directly. You may have to go through Adamaris to get to Finnick,” he advised, referring to Four’s stylist, who had been a part of the rebellion for longer than Finnick himself. Cinna nodded, gestured for Peeta to continue. “Same with Beetee – you’ll have to go through his stylist, or otherwise get Adamaris to pass the message along.”

“I can do that,” Cinna confirmed.

“Good. Tell them the extraction is going ahead. At the moment, the plan is to advise them via sponsor parachutes of bread of when it will happen. The District that the bread is sent from will be the day we go in, and the amount of the item we send will be the hour.”

Cinna placed his drink on the table, before lacing his fingers together beside it. “So if 8 rolls of bread are sent, is it 8am or 8pm?” he queried.

“8 rolls is 8am. Plutarch is using a 24 hour time reference, so if we send 16 rolls of bread from Four, it’s happening on day 4, at 4pm.” Peeta sighed and ran a hand across his face. “We just still can’t be sure of when they’re going in just yet. We need to make sure everything has fallen into place before we do. We need to ensure that Snow will be away from the Control Centre for starters, and his media schedule for the Games isn’t released until tomorrow. By then it’s too late to tell Haymitch and Finnick. Plus…”

“Plus?”

_This was the part he didn’t like, the part that had instantly worried him the moment Plutarch had mentioned it_. “Apparently they’re still waiting on final confirmation of the hovercraft that’s being used for the extraction.”

“What?” Cinna’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “That’s not confirmed yet?”

Peeta shook his head. “Whoever is organising it has hit a snag. I’m not sure what it is, or why it hasn’t been resolved yet. That’s not my area, so I don’t know anything about it.”

“They can’t let that go on for too long,” Cinna said firmly. “The longer they’re out there, the less chance we have of getting them all out.”

“I know,” Peeta replied ruefully. “Trust me, I know.” He glanced down at his watch, noted they were almost out of time. “I’m sorry there isn't more to tell. But it’s important that you get that info to the others. Oh, and Beetee needs to know his wire will be in the Cornucopia. Apparently he knows what he has to do with it?”

Cinna nodded. “Beetee’s a smart man. If he doesn’t already, he’ll figure it out.”

Peeta murmured his agreement, then rose to his feet. “I should head back. I have afternoon tea scheduled with the President.” His face remained impassive, but his eyes spoke a thousand unhappy words. “Will you...will you say hello to Katniss for me?”

“I will,” Cinna agreed, standing up from his seat as a smile crept slowly across his face. “I can’t wait for you to see her. She'll look amazing in her dress.”

“Of course she will,” Peeta replied. “It’s Katniss, in a dress by you. What could go wrong?”

“Nothing,” Cinna said, and his smile grew pensive. “Nothing will go wrong at all. I think tonight...will go exactly as I planned.” He rested his hand on Peeta’s shoulder, squeezed lightly. “Thanks for meeting me, Peeta. I’ll see you tonight at the interviews, alright?”

“I’ll see you at the interviews,” Peeta echoed, and watched the stylist head towards the door, his gait relaxed and carefree.

He sat down again, leant back in his chair and lifted a hand, rubbing it slightly against his breastbone to try and ease the pressure that had been building inside him all afternoon.

It was finally beginning, the pieces falling into place, the final preparations being locked in.

There was no going back now.

********

The knock on her door was barely discernable, but she heard it clear as day. After all, she’d been waiting for it since Venia had swiped the brush over her cheek for the last time and announced her _“ready for Cinna!”_ with a smile on her face, even though tears had been welling in her eyes. Flavius and Octavia had already been sent from her room, their histrionics more than Katniss could bear. She’d never thought they’d cared that much, but they had, above and beyond the general affection those from the Capitol held for Victors. Their sorrow had been real, no matter how over the top it had been.

"Come in," she called, and watched as the door slid open, revealing Cinna in his trademark black. He smiled gently, and pulled her into a hug as he reached her side.

"Ready for this?" He asked, and she nodded. He reached up for a strand of hair that had escaped from her elaborate braid - one that Flavius had mimicked from her original Reaping - before gently tucking it behind her ear. "Good. I hope you like the dress. I've been working on it day and night since the moment...well, for a while now."

Katniss shrugged. "You can say it, Cinna. Since I was 'reaped'. There's nothing I can do to hide from it."

"No, you’re right," he agreed. He tapped her chin with his forefinger. "Let's get you out of this robe and into this dress then, shall we?"

She nodded, sliding the robe from her shoulders as he reached for the big black garment bag that had hung on the closet door all day and that Effie had forbidden her to look at. Not that it mattered – even if the dress _was_ from Cinna, clothes still weren’t something that were at the forefront of Katniss’ mind. Especially not with everything else that was happening.

The last few days had gone by in a blur. Training had been a combination of survival knowledge, trying to increase her hand to hand combat skills - of which she still lacked any finesse - and awkward conversation with the other tributes. Haymitch’s sarcastic wit, Beetee's quiet ruminations, and Mags' silent hand gestures and smiles had carried her through, though there were times - when Finnick was making sultry suggestions accompanied with languid winks and Johanna was sprouting off angrily - that she longed for the quiet of her room.

The training scores following their private sessions with the Gamemakers had been no surprise - both she and Haymitch had received a 12, a clear indicator of the Capitol's intentions for both of them. Haymitch had refused to share with her what he’d done in his session, had locked himself in his room for the rest of the night after the scores were announced.

So she'd done the same.

After a mostly sleepless night - her dreams full of Rue and mutts and tracker jackers embedding themselves under her skin - she’d gone through a short session with Haymitch and Effie on manners and conducting themselves in the interview. It had become evident fairly quickly that none of them cared in the slightest, so instead she'd stolen away and spent the rest of the afternoon on the roof, staring out at the Capitol and wishing Peeta was there to share her final sunset.

"Katniss?" Cinna called quietly, bringing her back from her thoughts. She turned to him, ready to apologise - and then she saw the dress in his hand.

It flowed like silk, and shimmered and shone in the warmest of oranges. It wasn't bright - not like the wig Effie had worn during part of the Victory Tour - but soft, and almost comforting in its tone. Each time she moved her head slightly the colour changed, and she could see shades of pale gold and cream layered in the skirt. Small crystals and pearls were sewn into the bodice discreetly, and the pattern they made across it was so intricate, it was almost invisible to the naked eye.

The sleeves were gossamer thin, and would fall to just above her wrists; the neckline rounded with the intention of skirting along the length of her collarbone. And when Cinna turned it around, it draped gently down from mid-back, reminding her of the way the late afternoon sun would ripple across the water on the lake at home.

“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly, and he smiled.

“I’m glad you think so. The style I had in mind for a long time. The colour I picked because…”

“Because?”

“It’s Peeta’s favourite,” he said simply, and she couldn't help the flush that crept up her neck. “He says hello, by the way; I bumped into him earlier today. Now, come here, and let’s get you into it. I want to make sure it’s perfect.”

“It will be,” she replied, ignoring the faint jolt of jealousy that ran through her because he'd seen Peeta and she hadn’t, and moved over so that he could slip the dress over her head. She closed her eyes as Cinna fastened the zippers and snaps that discreetly held it together around her. It was soft against her skin, but surprisingly heavy - it hadn’t _looked_ heavy, but it certainly felt that way. "Am I going to be able to walk in this?" she asked dubiously. "I know I can't walk in heels on the best of days, but while I wear _this_? Cinna, it's so heavy."

He nodded absently. "I'm sorry. The beading ended up putting more weight in the dress than I anticipated. But you'll be fine, I promise." He turned, reached into a wide black bag sitting on the floor, and drew out a pair of nude strappy sandals that barely had an inch of height to them. He held them out to her with a smile. "I think these will work, don't you?"

She glanced from him, to the shoes and back again. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"So it's been said," he murmured. He crouched down to tie the thin straps of the sandals around her ankles, then played with the hem of the skirt until it fell perfectly just above her toes in wavy swirls. He rose, and stepped back, studying her carefully through narrowed eyes. Then he smiled. "We're done," he announced, and turned her to face the large mirror that took up one part of the wall in her room.

If she believed in fairy tales, those stories of old that her mother had once told her before their lives had invariably changed, she would swear she'd stepped from inside their pages. Her olive skin glowed beside the warm tones of the fabric, and her hair somehow seemed darker and more lustrous, while her eyes shimmered like silver. The dress, as predicted, fit like a glove. "Do you want me to twirl like last year?" Katniss asked hesitantly, because she wasn't sure whatever she said could do the dress justice, and Cinna chuckled.

"Of course I do. What better way to show off a dress so perfect for you?"

She nodded, then sighed. "It's lovely, Cinna, but I really wish I didn't have to wear it."

"Neither do I," he said bluntly, and her mouth dropped open at the force of his words. "My girl on fire, there is nothing I would rather see you wear _less_. But we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

"No."

"So even though you don't have a choice, I want you to show them what you're made of. Don't go meekly onto that stage or into that Arena."

"What do you mean?"

Cinna smiled, smoothed a non-existent crease from the neckline of her dress. "Get the crowd riled up. Twirl for me. Cause a little excitement. They've underestimated you, and they'll keep doing it.  Let them know the game isn't over yet, because we certainly know it isn’t."

Katniss mouth dropped at Cinna's words. _Should he really be saying things like that, in a place where it was likely they were being monitored? Where what he was saying could be directly construed as words of rebellion - which, when it came down to it, they were?_

Almost as if he could sense her concern, he lent in for another hug, whispered in her ear. "It's ok, Katniss. You'll be fine. And so will I."

Cinna's words played over and over in her head as he put the finishing touches on her outfit, as Effie tottered in and promptly burst into tears at the sight of her. _Get the crowd riled up._ They weighed on her as Haymitch barged through the door and told Effie to shut the hell up as he tugged awkwardly on the collar of the shirt Portia had dressed him in. _Twirl for me._ They nagged at her as they made their way downstairs in the elevators, and towards the crowded and busy makeshift stage that had been created especially for tonight, in the open area of the Training Compound. _Cause a little excitement._ She had no idea what to do, what to say. Twirling - sure, that was easy. But being personable and fun and _exciting_ wasn’t exactly Katniss Everdeen.

Until she remembered Cinna's reasoning behind choosing the colour of her dress.

_It’s Peeta’s favourite._

Cinna knew, as well as Katniss did, that what was between Katniss and Peeta was real, that it wasn't just the product of Capitol marketing that Snow thought it was. And tonight gave her the perfect opportunity - in front of everyone - to remind Peeta of that as well. She might be entering the Arena, with only a slim chance of a miracle happening, but she could make an impression first, regardless of the outcome. She knew what she had to say - what she _wanted_ to say, _needed_ to say - and right now, it was the least she could do.

She took a deep breath, and stepped into the din.

********

Tribute after Tribute took to the stage; Katniss soon realised that she wasn't the only one who had something to say, and it was apparent that those going into the arena weren't alone in their unhappiness. If the sobs, wails and calls for the Games to be cancelled that came from the crowd were any indication, the citizens wasn't as enthralled as they usually were. They were just as unhappy that some of their favourite Victors would be lost to them forever.

Gloss was stoic, but Cashmere sobbed prettily in his arms at it being 'so unfair' that they be reaped again. Beetee questioned the validity of it, and that if the Capitol created the rules, surely they could amend them. Finnick recited a lovelorn poem that was flowery and romantic and had women swooning in their seats. Johanna let loose an expletive ridden tirade, with words Katniss hadn't even heard used in the Hob, and she'd always assumed they were the worst there was.

After listening to Johanna, her vocabulary had extended considerably.

Haymitch’s name was called, and he pulled her into an abrupt hug, a _"You'll be ok, sweetheart"_ murmured gruffly in her ear before he headed onto the stage. And then she was alone, with nothing but the sounds of the crowd and Haymitch’s blunt answers to Caesar to keep her company.

Finally, Katniss heard her name - Caesar's voice loud and exuberant from the stage - and she headed towards the ramp that led out to the bright lights and the crowd. The noise was deafening, cheers and catcalls and sobs and feet stomping against wood. She focused on the sight of Caesar in front of her, his smile wide and his hand outstretched. She reached for it, managed to not flinch as he lowered his lips to the back of her hand, barely brushing against the skin. She kept her focus on him, couldn't look out at the crowd. Not yet.

"It's everyone’s favourite _Girrrrrrl onnnnnnnnn Fiiiiiiiiiiire!_ " he intoned into the microphone, and the crowd cheered enthusiastically.

She stood, smiled politely and laughed mechanically as they bantered, as he reminded everyone of her lovely sister back home. They joked together, as though what he was interviewing her for wasn't because she was heading into the Arena, and she supposed that's why he was so good at his job. Then of course, when she least expected it, he  changed his tactic, and the reason she was there referred to as clear as day.

“So let’s talk about the last six months, Katniss, and the journey you’ve been on that we’d never expected. It’s such a shame isn’t it,” Caesar said gently, clasping her hands in his suddenly. His violet tinted eyes studied her sadly. “To have found Peeta, only to be torn apart by something like this, by you going back into the Games.”

She felt her cheeks colour, and the lump rise in her throat. “Yes, I suppose it is,” Katniss replied, and allowed her gaze to move out over the crowd, searching for him. He stood between Effie and Cinna, nodding his head slightly in support. Could she do this? Could she really say what she planned to, in front of this many people?

_She had to. The opportunity had practically fallen into her lap._

“It’s been such a delight to see the two of you become so close – I’m sure I’m not the only one here who will be devastated if you’re…unable to continue the relationship.” Katniss could see people in the crowd nodding their heads and murmuring softly in agreement.

She gathered up every ounce of courage she had inside of her at that moment. "I would be too, Caesar,” she said quietly. "You see, it's not something fleeting that we have. It's real. And you don’t...you don't expect to fall in love with someone only to have it torn away from you so quickly."

Katniss couldn’t hear a thing except the pounding of her own heart in her ears, didn’t see anyone or anything but Peeta; the way his own eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. She’d never told him, had figured if she never said it aloud, it wasn't _real_.

But it was.

And the way the smile spread across his face made it all the more worth it.

The din from the crowd began to filter through, shouts and wails, the occasional _'she loves him!'_ and _'let them be together!'_ ; heartfelt sobbing from a woman in the front row punctuated it all. Turning ruefully to Caesar, she frowned. "Sorry, Caesar. I think I may have derailed the interview."

He smiled gently. "Oh no no, my dear Katniss, not at all. It’s perfectly alright - after all, we don't hear declarations of love from a Tribute very often. Although, alas, we _are_ out of time. I must insist, however, before you go…Give us a little twirl, will you? For old times’ sake?" Caesar pleaded. Katniss nodded in agreement - thankful that he asked and she didn’t have to suggest it - stepping away from him slightly before beginning to pivot on her right foot.

And then she was spinning, turning, and the world around her was glowing and sparking and clouds of white and orange and black smoke filtered around her. She had no idea what was going on.

But she trusted Cinna wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t until she’d stopped spinning and the shocked gasps of the crowd filtered through that she realised something was wrong – _or very, very right_.

Because looking down at her dress - at the orange and cream and gold that had given way to midnight black and pearlescent purple and blue, at the beads and pearls that had burst open to reveal thousands of hidden feathers that lined the bodice and skirt and the sleeves - she finally realised what Cinna had done.

_He’d turned her into a Mockingjay._

********

Peeta watched, his heart in his throat, as the stage lights abruptly shut down the minute Katniss declared loudly that she was a Mockingjay, as the crowd – which had been whipped into a frenzy - rose to their feet, their voices chanting hysterically for Katniss. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Cinna, saw the man’s small, satisfied smile.

_What had he done?_

“Peeta, Cinna, we must leave,” Effie hissed loudly, “Before the crowd starts getting out of control.”

“They _are_ out of control,” Peeta replied, but dutifully followed her out of their allocated seating, pushing past a woman dressed head to toe in leopard print and wailing miserably - and into a makeshift corridor that led towards the outside of the compound. She waited until they were a good distance away from the stage before whirling on her heels to Cinna. Her bottle-green tinted eyes were horrified.

“Cinna, that was….”

“I know,” he said simply.

“President Snow will be furious,” she hissed.

“I know, Effie. And it doesn’t matter. I have no regrets.” He leant in, pressed a small kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you later, alright?” he said quietly. He tipped his head once to Peeta, then turned and walked away without another word.  Effie stood there, speechless, while Peeta stared after him, an unsettling feeling heavy in his bones.

It took him an hour to get home, to get away from the press who followed him, wanting to know his response to Katniss’ public declaration of love. It took another ten minutes to go through his messages; one from Cressida confirming his arrival at the Control Centre at 8am the next day, two from reporters begging for interviews, a particularly stinging tirade from his mother for _delving below his station_. He tossed his jacket unceremoniously across the back of his sofa, stared blindly out the window.

None of the messages mattered. All he could think about was Katniss, and what she’d said in her interview. _Had she meant it? Did she really feel that way, and never told him? Or was it just a ploy, like everything else in these Games?_

He knew his plan to sneak out later to see her wasn’t going to be enough.

He had to see her now.

********

She heard him before she saw him; she turned slightly to look over her shoulder to see Peeta, his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks, his blonde hair dishevelled from the wind. He’d discarded the jacket she’d seen him wearing in the crowd at the interview, his tie loosened and the first button of his shirt popped open.

"Haymitch told me you were up here," he said quietly. He joined her at the edge and looked down to the streets below before shifting his gaze to the moonlit skyscrapers in the distance. Her hand moved unbidden from its place on the railing, reaching down and tugging on his hand until it slipped from his pocket and his fingers linked with hers.

If she had to spend her last night with anyone, Peeta was her one and only choice.

“I was hoping you’d still come,” she murmured, turning slightly to face him.

“I told you I would when we were up here the other day, just before I left,” he said quietly.

“I know. I just...wasn’t sure. Not after earlier.”  She looked down nervously at their joined hands. “How did you get up here?”

“I still have the pass Snow gave me. The guards at the desk didn’t even look at it twice – they probably thought it was romantic, the 'star crossed lovers' meeting one last time."

Her eyebrows drew together in consternation. "Is that what they’re saying about us?"

He nodded. "I heard it on the radio in my apartment, and on the transport to here. They're also going wild after your transformation."  Peeta cleared his throat. "You, uh, looked amazing, by the way."

Katniss chewed on her lower lip. "Thanks. It was all Cinna."

He shrugged. "Sure, he made it for you. But I'd say you made it pretty damn perfect. The first dress was beautiful, but the second one..." He fumbled for the right words to say. "Katniss, you looked magnificent."

Katniss blushed. "I had no idea he was going to do that. But...but I think it was the best dress he's ever made."

"I think you're right."

They fell silent, the breeze rustling through the leaves of the plants and bushes the only sound, until finally Katniss blurted out the words that had been on the tip of her tongue since he’d appeared on the roof. "I know I should have told you before tonight.”

Peeta raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“About…what I said in the interview. I should have told you before then. I realised I’ve felt that way for so long, but I didn’t…I didn’t want to admit it.”

At first Peeta didn’t say anything, and her heart pounded out of control so fast she thought it would leap out of her chest. _What if every time he’d mentioned the word love, he’d never really meant it in that way? What if he’d never felt that way about her, not in the same way she’d only just been able to admit to herself that she felt about him?_ Finally, he spoke, his voice soft. “So you _did_ mean it?”

Katniss blinked in surprise, then scowled and yanked her hand from his. She strode away from the ledge, moved closer to the gardens, and folded her arms across her chest. “Of course I meant it. I wouldn’t say something like that and not mean it.”

She watched as he blew out a breath, as his shoulders – which she only now realised had been tense and tight – slumped in relief. “I was so worried you didn’t mean it, that somehow Snow had gotten to you and he’d told you to say it.”

Katniss shuddered at the thought. “What? No. No, he didn’t. Cinna…Cinna told me to say something that would get the crowd excited. And when I thought about it, it was the only thing I wanted to say, needed to say, regardless of what the crowd said or thought.”

He nodded, let her words sink in before he cleared his throat nervously. He stepped closer. “So, um, why didn’t you want to admit to that to me before today?”

Katniss shrugged, feeling awkward in trying to explain herself, and dropped her gaze to the ground. “Because if I say it, it becomes real. And when it’s real, and when I lose you, you’re just another person in a line of people I love who I’ve lost, or will lose. It’s inevitable.”

Peeta slipped his hand out of his pocket, reached up and twisted his hand around the end of her braid, tugging her to him and forcing her to look up at him. “You won’t lose me, Katniss, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” she mumbled.

“Because I am, alright?” He smiled slowly. “Now say it again. Please? Just for me.”

She ran her tongue along her upper teeth, pressed her lips together nervously.  “I love you, Peeta.”

He ran his hand up the length of her braid, cupped the back of her neck with his palm. “And I love _you_ , Katniss, and that won’t ever change.” He leant forward, pressed his lips to hers softly, sweetly. They stood there for a moment, foreheads resting against each other, and Katniss couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.

And then, as if a switch had suddenly been flicked, his hands were in her hair, on her cheeks, and his mouth was slanting over hers, almost feral and demanding with need. With a soft murmur of surprise, she gripped onto the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in her hands, holding on for dear life at the sudden shift, from going from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds.

Her hands slid up his chest, clutched at the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly as she pulled him closer into her. His breath was hot on her cheek as he tore his mouth from hers, as he gently sucked on the lobe of her ear, then traced his way down to the juncture of her neck. His hands slid under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips dancing along the strip of bare flesh along the base of her spine. She shuddered with every press of his lips, her stomach jerking and quivering and filling with the heat it always did when he kissed her.

It was just like their kiss on the roof nights before, only this time it felt like everything inside her was going to explode. No matter his promises, or the assurances that somehow she would come out of the Arena alive, she still harbored doubts. For all she knew, this was the last time she would ever see him.

And in that moment she knew how she wanted to spend her last night with Peeta.

Katniss pulled away slightly, studied the way his pupils had dilated, the way his eyes had darkened. And reached for the second button his shirt, slipping it open with trembling fingers.

"K-Katniss, what are you doing?" Peeta asked, and she could hear the confusion in his voice.

"Just let me," she muttered, moving to the next button, ignoring his hands as he tried to stop her. "This might be the last time we ever see each other and I don't want to waste it."

"Waste it? Katniss?"

She leant in again, pressed her lips to his forcefully with all the courage she could muster. "Can they see us? Are the cameras still diverted away from here, from the other day?"

"What? Yes. No. I mean, yes, they're still diverted."

"Hear us?" She bit out, the fourth and fifth buttons slipping free.

"No, I jammed the mics the moment I got out here. Katniss, what-"

"I want to be with you."

She felt him still, his hands reaching for hers and holding her in place. Her feet tapped against the ground impatiently. "Katniss?"

"What?" She focused on the spot of skin on his chest that had been bared to her, the faint smattering of golden hair.

"Look at me."

"Why?"

"Katniss," he repeated, warning in his voice, and she reluctantly looked up at him. His eyes were heated still, filled with the need she’d seen in them so many times, but there was also confusion and uncertainty. "I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to. Don't feel as if this is something you should do just because you think we won't see each other again - _because we will._ "

"That doesn't matter," she replied forcefully. "Every time you kiss me I wonder what it would be like, what it would be like to be with you. And I want to, I want that, now. The Capitol gave me a shot, just like last year, if that’s what you're worried about."

He blinked. "Shit, Katniss, no. I get a shot too, every year. They make you until you're ready to...Wait, that doesn't matter. What matters is-"

She'd had enough. She knew what she wanted, and only had so much time to do it in.

She kissed him mid-sentence, until he gave up all pretence of speaking, and began kissing her back, letting go of her hands and wrapping his arms around her waist, tugging her close. "Please, Peeta," she murmured. "I need you. And I want to."

His murmured assent was all she needed, and then she was tugging at his shirt, yanking the sleeves from his shoulders. Every shift of her body caused him to buck against her, their bodies radiating heat and want and nerves.

_Oh shit, how was she going to do this?_

She let him take the lead, and he pulled away slightly to undo the last button of his shirt, dropping it to the ground unceremoniously. He reached for the hem of the soft blouse she wore, and he waited until she nodded slightly before he gently pulled it over her head.

"Katniss," he breathed reverently, once it was gone and all she wore was a pair of cotton pants and a black bra. He traced a finger across the swell of her breasts, and she closed her eyes as goosebumps popped along her skin, as he used the palms of his hands to cup them. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, and she shook her head, her eyes flickering open.

"Just shut up and kiss me, Peeta," she demanded, and he eagerly obliged.

They kissed for what felt like hours, the warm skin of his bare chest pressed up against hers, his hips pushing solidly against her. He took his time, removing item after item of clothing slowly and carefully until she was bare to him. Part of her was embarrassed that he could see her - all of her - but the other, more dominant part, just wanted to see _him_.

Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of his pants, an annoyed hiss falling from her lips as they refused to give way. Peeta chuckled lightly, raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them, before easily discarding the pants and laying both them and his shirt down onto a soft grass pathway that bisected two gardens. He lowered her onto the makeshift blanket his clothes had made and kissed her senseless, his lips drawing a map across her body that his hands eagerly followed.

Katniss swallowed heavily, then lifted her head slightly, chancing a look down at him, where his hip rested snugly against the curve of her thigh.

It was part fear and terror and want that filled her and her body must have frozen, because Peeta's hand suddenly stilled against her stomach, and he looked down at her with concern. "Katniss?  Are you okay?"

She nodded, slightly breathless. "I think so. I just...I...it's my first time," she said quietly, and her cheeks coloured.

He nodded slowly. "Then we'll take it slow," he promised, and kissed her again. He traced his hand down her stomach, along the muscle in her calf and up the arch of her foot. He trailed it back up along her thigh until her eyes closed, his fingers brushing against her centre gently at first, as he lowered his mouth to hers hungrily. He slowly increased the movement of his fingertips until her hips began to rock against him desperately, until her murmurs were all but incoherent. Peeta was true to his word, slowly bringing her to peak with the ministrations of his hand, swallowing her surprised moans as she burst under him, her body shattering into a million pieces. She slumped against him, felt limp and exhausted and _wonderful._

Katniss glanced up at the lazy, satisfied smirk on his face, and she blushed, hiding her face against his arm. Peeta chuckled, tipped her face up with his finger. "Don't be shy," he whispered. "That was amazing."

She bit her lip, felt him hard and insistent against her thigh. "Can I...for you...can we...?"

He didn't answer, just lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her and touched her until her bones felt like jelly, until she was a quivering mass of need again, then shifted so that his body hovered over hers, his weight steadied by his elbows.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "This might-"

"I don't care," Katniss replied, lifting her hands and bracing them against the small of his back, her fingers digging into his hips. She didn't take her eyes off his, just focused on the blue and the way everything he felt for her was so evident in them. Then he slid into her inch by inch, until he filled her so completely she almost forgot how to breathe. She winced - it stung, sharp and a little uncomfortable, but not as much as she'd expected.

She felt his body straining under her hands, looked at the way the muscles in his forearms were tense and shaking from holding himself still. So she lightly bucked her hips against his in encouragement.

_The groan of her name that fell from his lips was like music to her ears._

He thrust inside her slowly, steadily, not taking his eyes off her for one moment as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge. He slid a hand between them, touching her and drawing her out until she uttered a short, strangled moan. And when she felt him shudder, his thighs locking against hers and a growl emanating from his chest, she held him closer, let him ride it out until, spent, he collapsed on top of her.

In the aftermath, waiting for the haze to clear, they curled around each other and slept.

********

Later, after he’d coaxed her back into her clothes, he carried her downstairs, laid her in her bed and pressed a single kiss to her forehead before she drifted back into a dreamless sleep.

When she woke to the sound of Effie knocking on her bedroom door hours later, he was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments. Thanks also to the ladies who help me get through every chapter - you know who you are xo


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that for the next few chapters there will be some references and descriptions of violence. However, they will not be too graphic in nature.

His body was curled around hers, and he could feel the faint movement of her back with each breath she took, the clenching of her fingers around his from where their joined hands were splayed against her stomach. Her body was loose, limber, not tense like he’d known it to be so often. Katniss had slept uninterrupted by nightmares, and on her final night before the Arena, he was glad her sleep had been free of them.

Peeta still couldn’t believe the way he and Katniss had spent last night together. He couldn’t lie and say that, over the last 6 months, he hadn’t thought about them being together in that way. He had, plenty of times. It would often keep him awake at night, thinking about her bare skin against his, how she’d feel under him, how good it would feel to be inside her. But he hadn’t expected it to happen, hadn’t expected Katniss to be so forthcoming in her feelings and actually _wanting_ to.

But she had, and it was everything he’d hoped it would be, and more.

His hand drifted over Katniss’ hip, his head nuzzled into the nape of her neck. She murmured sleepily, turning her head slightly so her hair was tickling his nose, and he breathed in her scent, of earth and honey and pine.  Gathering her closer, he swore to himself he was going to make the most of every last second they had left tog-

Peeta felt the comm buzz in his pocket, and he sighed. _Of course. Every last second was already up._

Carefully rolling onto his back and gently sliding his arm out from under Katniss so he didn’t disturb her, he shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed.  He pulled his comm out and hunched over it so the screen couldn’t be seen by any surveillance - thankfully, it was a message, not a video call. Unfortunately, it was from Cressida, and it was obvious she was pissed.

_Peeta, where the hell are you? A town car just went to pick you up to take you to Control, and you weren’t there. Be home in 15 minutes, or I'll kick your ass._

With a soft groan of frustration, he pocketed the comm, then ran his hands across his face, through his sleep rumpled hair. He was going to have to go - immediately - to make sure he was home in time to at least change his shirt before he was picked up. But he knew he wanted to let Katniss sleep for as long as she could; and that meant not waking her up. She needed it, she deserved it - even though it killed him to leave without saying goodbye.

He dragged himself to his feet, turned to see that Katniss had rolled over, her arm flung out over where he’d been lying only minutes ago. Her face, for now, was free from lines and worry, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until that changed.

Peeta moved over to the small desk in the corner, checked the drawer to find a ream of creamy paper and a slim fountain pen. He quickly scrawled down the words he wanted to say without revealing too much, then folded it and placed it on the pillow beside her.

Leaning over Katniss, he pressed his lips lightly to hers and then snuck from the room without a second glance. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave if he'd chanced another one.

********

“Katniss, dear! It’s time to wake up!”

The door to Katniss’ room opened a half second after Effie finished her wake up announcement, and she sat up in frantic horror. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and looked wildly around the room, hoping that Effie wouldn’t pitch a fit with Peeta being in her room. The last thing she needed this morning was a lecture about propriety and gossip and all the things that really didn’t matter at all. But it didn’t take long for realisation to set in.

_Peeta wasn’t even there._

"Come now, it's a big, big day! The hovercraft will be here shortly and we can't leave them waiting, you know," Effie said firmly, planting her hands on her hips as she moved to stand beside Katniss’ bed.

With a sigh Katniss turned to face the escort properly, studied the bright purple dress and elaborately coiffed golden hair. "Did you see Peeta?" she mumbled.

Effie's face gentled, the intensity that had been there but a moment before gone. "Why no, dear, I didn't. Was he supposed to come by this morning? It wasn't on my schedule..."

Katniss shook her head. _If Effie hadn't seen him leave, it meant he'd been gone for well over half an hour, and he'd left without saying goodbye._

"No, it's ok. I just thought..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "Never mind, Effie. I'll be out in ten minutes."

Effie nodded, turned on her heel and tottered out the door. Katniss could hear her complaining about 'waking that blasted man', but the rest of her stream of mutterings was blocked by the closing door.

Katniss flopped back onto the mattress limply, stared up at the ceiling. The day was finally here, there was no getting around it. _In less than two hours she was going back into the Arena._

Rolling over onto her side to face the wide, floor to ceiling window, she pushed her face into the pillow with a groan, and was surprised to feel a crumpling under her cheek. Confused, she lifted her head, saw the folded piece of paper on the pillow, and slid a hand up the smooth sheets to open it. It shook slightly the moment she recognized Peeta's familiar script.

_Katniss, I'm sorry I left. I needed to meet with Plutarch and President Snow this morning, and you needed to sleep. I didn't want to wake you. But I know you can do this. I'll be there when you come out. Peeta._

She rubbed eyes blurry with sleep, then re-read the note again. And again. _She should have known he wouldn’t have left without a reason._

Katniss pulled herself out of bed, went into the bathroom and customised the shower settings to her preferences. She scrubbed furiously at her hair with a handful of honeysuckle shampoo, watched as the lathered bubbles slid over her skin and down the drain. Her body was sore, and there was an ache between her legs that reminded her exactly of what she and Peeta had done together the night before. He'd been gentle, despite her awkwardness, and the fumbling of her inexperienced hands, but he'd made sure she'd been sated, that she'd been able to feel the same way he had. And she didn't regret it one bit.

Letting her mind wander, she thought about the intensity of his eyes as he’d moved over her, the way his hands had drifted across her body, setting her skin shivering from anticipation and nerves. She remembered the way his lips had felt against hers, then the way he’d trailed open mouthed kisses along her throat and shoulder, down to her breast where he’d lavished attention until she’d squirmed and breathlessly muttered his name and an anguished _please_. The way he’d gently touched his nose to hers after it was over, a smile creeping and growing across his face until she couldn’t help but return it. Katniss knew her cheeks were flushed at her thoughts, knew it would linger when she went out for breakfast. She just hoped that Effie would put it down to nerves, that she wouldn’t harangue her about her appearance, or question her about it. But in the end, Effie was too busy arguing with Haymitch over coffee to even notice.

The morning passed quickly, quicker than she'd hoped for, quicker than she would have liked. Before she knew it, she and Haymitch were standing at the elevator, ready to be led to their transportation to the Arena. Effie enveloped her in a cloud of perfume and cotton candy hair, with eyes threatening to spill with tears as she cupped her hands around Katniss' cheeks and told her _it simply wasn't fair._ Katniss had never seen her this way - not even when she was reaped for the second time - and while part of her was taken aback by Effie's sudden and unexpected display of emotion, she was thankful for it. She might never know what role Effie played in the rebellion, but at least she knew that, deep down, the Capitolite did care about her, in her own way.

"Thank you, Effie," She finally managed to say with a faint smile, more for the Escorts’ benefit than her own. "Who knows - maybe you'll see me again."

"Oh I _hope_ so, Katniss, I do," Effie murmured, before she turned to Haymitch. For some reason, Katniss couldn’t watch this farewell. For two people who bickered with each other 90% of the time, they'd been in each other’s lives for over ten years, whether they’d liked it or not. So she turned her head, focused on the window on the other side of the room, out to the Capitol, and the morning sun. On anything but the awkward goodbye happening beside her.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Haymitch finally grunted, and she looked back at the two of them, nodded in agreement.

"As I'll ever be," She replied, then stepped into the elevator beside him.

Her last glance towards Effie showed a hand lifted in farewell and purple eyes red-rimmed from tears.

********

"Peeta, how nice to see you this morning," Plutarch greeted with a thin smile as Peeta stepped into the Control Room, camera in hand. He clasped his hands together behind his back, scanned the room swiftly before looking back at Peeta with a raised eyebrow. He'd worked with Plutarch long enough to know the man was frustrated - but he was a master at hiding it well from those who wouldn't know any better. "President Snow and I were just discussing how the excitement over the documentation of this event has reached fever pitch. The very first Arena launch to be captured for our citizens to see has made everyone excited."

"Yes, I can imagine," Peeta said shortly, glancing around him. It was busier in the Control Room than it had been during his last visit, Gametechs in pristine white uniforms bustling about with last minute preparations, the Executors already seated, waiting. There wasn't anything for them to do until a Tribute died. "It's a...lively place in here."

"You have no idea," President Snow said, moving from the other side of Plutarch so that he stood between the two men. "But the moment the games start is when the real action begins."

"Of course," Peeta agreed. They stood in silence for a few moments, absently studying the workers as they tested screens and ran through schedules. Finally, Peeta couldn’t stand it any longer. "President Snow, when would you like me to get started with the documentation?"

He watched as a look was exchanged between Plutarch and President Snow, then as a wry smile crossed the President's face. "Well, I say right now, don't you, Heavensbee? Let's bring up this Arena, shall we?"

Plutarch nodded, called out a stream of instructions that had the room falling silent, followed by a simple "Power up." Almost on cue, the circular table in the centre of the room began to hum, and layer upon layer of lines and grids crisscrossed until an image of this year’s Arena appeared before them. His breath got caught in his throat.

_Water. So much water in the middle. Had they anticipated this? Could any of the Allies outside of Finnick even swim?_

He lifted the camera to his eyes, studying the hologram carefully as he snapped it at various angles - the mountainous ridges circling the edge, the body of water positioned perfectly in the middle of the Arena, and the thick, dense jungle separating the two. The Cornucopia stood, shiny and gleaming and silver, in the middle of the water like an island.

_The Cornucopia was going to be messy if everyone went for its bounty, a sea of blood and gore._

Peeta glanced up to see Snow considering him carefully. “It looks like no other Arena I’ve seen before,” he said honestly. “It’s impressive.”

Snow smiled. “It is, isn’t it? I think Heavensbee has blown us completely out of the water this year with the concept.”

“You flatter me, President Snow,” Plutarch said with a wave of his hand. “It was a collaborative effort.”

“But a responsibility you took on despite knowing the...risks. I’m looking forward to seeing it active.” He glanced down at the elaborate silver watch on his wrist, then looked back up. “Well, gentlemen, it’s time for me to retire to my quarters to watch the countdown. I’ll leave this in your capable hands.”

“Of course,” Plutarch replied, tipped his head differentially to the President; Peeta followed suit. Both their gazes followed Snow as he walked from the room.

“You were late,” Plutarch murmured the moment Snow was gone.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Peeta replied, though he wasn’t, not really.

“You were with Katniss.”

“Yes.”

“You were...careful with surveillance, I assume?”

“Yes,” Peeta rolled his eyes, but made sure his voice was barely above a mutter. “I did everything you told me to when you gave me the jammer, and the cameras were still diverted from my last visit. They wouldn’t have heard us talk about anything.” _Or seen us doing anything._ He folded his arms across his chest, turned to face Plutarch front on. He could sense the disapproval emanating from the man. “What?” Peeta demanded.

Plutarch sighed. “Nothing, Peeta. I’m glad you spent some time with Katniss before she entered the Arena. I just...want to make sure your focus is still...where it needs to be.”

Peeta scowled. “My focus hasn’t waned in the slightest. Now is not the time to question me on it, when I’m probably more committed to the cause than I ever have been before. What we’re doing is what will bring Katniss back. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Good,” Plutarch said quietly with a nod. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Now…” He raised his voice, loud enough so that the closest Gametechs would be able to hear him. “Mr Mellark, I have the outline of what President Snow is looking for in terms of images back here in my viewing room. Let’s discuss your tasks for today.” Without waiting for Peeta, he turned on his heel, pressed his thumb against an invisible button in the wall. A panel slid open, revealing a room just big enough for three people to sit around a small glass table that occupied the centre of the room. An entire wall filled with screens was already showing various angles of the inside of the Arena.

Peeta stepped inside the room, not taking his eyes off the screens. From this perspective, it looked almost serene - water lapping gently against sand in one shot, palm trees swaying in the breeze in another, the pinky-orange tinge of the sun along the ridge of the mountains in a third.

“That’s it, huh?” He said, as the door swished closed behind Plutarch.

“That’s it,” Plutarch confirmed. He folded his arms across his chest. “Look at it, Peeta. Tell me what you see.”

He turned his focus back to the screens, looked at the various angles of the Arena. His artist’s eye studied the light, the colour, the placement of the Cornucopia, the symmetry-

_The symmetry._

“There’s repetition,” Peeta murmured finally. “Twelve trees that stand out above the rest. Twelve ridges there with those purple and pink flowers. The same crop of palm trees, clustered like a star. It’s like the same puzzle pieces repeated over and over again in a circle.”

“That’s right,” Plutarch nodded approvingly. “It’s actually a clock.”

“A clock?” Peeta repeated. He looked at the images again, then saw the pattern emerge on the screen that showed the Arena from directly above. “Alright then. But what’s the idea behind it? Does Snow know?”

“Yes,” Plutarch said. “He knows. It was one of the…ideas he liked the most when I went to him with the proposal. It appealed to him. But whatever reasons I gave him for the idea isn’t the true intention.”

“Which is?”

“It’s going to help us when we go in to rescue them.” Peeta didn’t say anything, simply raised an eyebrow in question, and Plutarch continued. “The District we’re sending the bread from will also dictate what part of the Arena we’ll be sending the hovercraft in. The tail of the Cornucopia hits twelve o'clock, and each wedge is representative of a time period. They’ll have to get to that wedge by the allocated time to ensure we rescue them as quickly as possible.”

Peeta shook his head in confusion. “But...but they won’t know this. I didn’t tell Cinna that yesterday."

“I know. We didn’t want to confirm it until the retrieval was completely locked in - final word on the use of the hovercraft came through this morning. Cressida was able to liaise with one of her contacts just in time to ensure the word would get to Haymitch and Finnick.” Plutarch reached down, picked a small electronic memo from the tabletop, then handed it to Peeta. “In the meantime, you need to get back out there. This is a list of what Snow wants you to capture over the next few days. Make sure you get them all, that’s still your primary focus being in here. We can't afford for him to get suspicious."

“I will,” Peeta confirmed, clasping the memo in his hand. “But a few days? We can’t leave them in there for that long, Plutarch. The odds diminish the longer they're in there.”

Plutarch sighed. “I can’t dictate when we go in, not yet. I can’t access a copy of Snow’s media schedule until that countdown is done and the bloodbath over, and until I know that, I’m not making any decisions.” He moved back towards the door, rested his palm on the plate to open the door before turning back. “Peeta, try not to worry. The plans are in place, and we’re almost at the end. I want this to be a success just as much as you do.”

With a final nod of his head, he walked back into the control room, and into the growing excitement. Peeta had no choice but to follow.

********

The room was cold, sterile, a sea of silver and grey. Katniss sat on a small stool that was freezing, and it seeped through the thin black and purple bodysuit she wore, chilling her bones.

_A bodysuit, for crying out loud. Not only did she have to fight for her life, she had to fight for it wearing this._

She and Haymitch had been separated the moment they’d reached the hovercraft and directed into different cabins, where her tracker had been injected under the skin of her forearm. With no one to talk to, and nothing to say anyway, she’d sat silently in the room and stared at the floor, her heart unsure whether it wanted to beat so erratically it jumped out of her chest, or slow down to the speed of molasses so that it stopped altogether.

The hovercraft flight had seemed shorter than last time, and she'd vaguely wondered where in Panem this Arena was. Was it close to the Capitol, for ease of access for those morbid enough to vacation at the place of death for so many of whom they’d deemed _‘their beloved Victors’_? Or did it require a day trip by train, somewhere Capitol citizens would think ‘exotic’?

She determined she really didn’t care.

A Peacekeeper had directed her down a series of tunnels the minute they’d landed, from the hovercraft down into her launch room. She’d been left to wait for Cinna - much like her previous games, he would be the last person she’d see before she stepped inside the cylinder to be lifted into the Arena. At least she knew it would be a friendly face.

Katniss lifted her hand to her mouth, began absently biting on the nail of her thumb - Effie wasn’t here to admonish her and, really, she had nothing else to do while she waited. So she chewed on her nail, thought of home, of Twelve. She thought of Prim, and how much her sister had changed in the last year. How she’d grown, how she’d learnt so much in terms of healing, how it was Prim more than anyone or anything else that had helped Alice to open up more in the last twelve months than she had in the last 5 years.

She thought of Gale, how he’d been so driven by the idea of a rebellion, how he’d seemed so _alive_ when she’d told him about it. But she also remembered the way he’d berated her about Peeta when they’d been in the woods, how _furious_ he’d been to find out that what was between them was real, that she actually felt something for Peeta.

She’d never expected to find him, never expected to find someone, never expected to _want_ to find someone. Only she had, and it had changed everything. She’d felt the unwelcome and confusing flutter in her stomach that she'd studiously ignored the minute she’d seen him walk down that snow-covered pathway to her house. Had known she was getting herself in deep the moment she’d watched him taking photos while he sat on the porch roof of the Capitol house in Twelve.

And somehow, as a result, she’d also become involved in a Rebellion. She just hoped that whatever Peeta had hinted at, whatever he was so sure would save her, would happen. She couldn’t afford to think otherwise. She couldn’t afford to think of never seeing any of them again.

Footsteps echoed in the hall outside her launch room, and Katniss looked up in time to see the door slide open and Cinna step in. In his trademark black pants, black shirt and gold eyeliner, he was the only familiarity she had in the room. She stepped into his outstretched arms without a second thought.

“Hey Girl on Fire,” he murmured into her ear, his arms tightening around her. “You ok?”

Katniss nodded into his shoulder, hoping to hide the tears that pricked at her eyes. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Just, you know...waiting. For the inevitable.” She lifted her head, pulled it back so she could look into his eyes. “Before I go, I want you to know how...how amazing that dress was. I thought the orange one was your best, but the mockingjay dress - it was - I mean-”

Cinna smiled, reached up and shucked her chin. “It’s ok, Katniss. I’m glad you liked it. The moment they announced the Quell, I knew it was what I wanted to make for you. But speaking of mockingjays...” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small circular piece of gold. _Oh, of course._ _Her mockingjay pin.  She hadn’t seen it in so long_. “I thought you might want your district token again,” he said quietly, reaching for the collar of her suit, and pinning it just below her left clavicle. “After all, it _is_ what started it all.”

“It all?” Katniss echoed.

“Your name,” he said simply. “Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire. Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay. You’re both of those, and don’t you ever forget it.”

She nodded slightly, then made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were sympathetic, strong, reassuring - and everything suddenly fell upon her like a lead balloon. _This was it. What if she didn’t come back? _“Cinna,” she said desperately, and her words came tumbling out in a rush. “If I don’t get out, make sure Prim is ok. And my mom. Make sure they don’t get to them, make sure they’re allowed to live in my house. Make sure Gale is alright, and Madge and Posy and Hazelle and Sae and-”

“Katniss,” he said firmly, lifting his hands so they rested on her shoulders. His tone alone stopped her in her tracks. “You are going to be fine. I have complete faith in you that you can do this, that you can come out of the Arena. And so do all those other people from Twelve as well. They believe in you. I’m still betting on you, Girl on Fire, and that will never change.”

“But Haymitch,” Katniss murmured, and she saw Cinna’s eyes shift into understanding.

“Katniss, Haymitch...will be fine. If it came down to himself or you coming out of the Arena, I know for a fact he’d pick you.”

“But he deserves to live.”

“And so do you,” Cinna said. “Just remember that-”

Cinna’s words were cut off by a piercing buzzing echoing through the hidden speakers in the roof followed by a firm female voice.

_One minute and counting._

She allowed Cinna to pull her in tightly, to whisper in her ear one more time that she could do this, before she pulled away. She knew she was shaking, knew her eyes were wide and her face was probably devoid of all colour.

 _30 seconds_.

Katniss bit her lip, watched as Cinna nodded his head at her in encouragement, and she moved towards the launch platform. She took in another breath, then another, and another until her head was light and it felt like it was going to spin.

_10 seconds._

The clear glass tube descended from the ceiling, encasing her in the column that would lead her into the Arena. She placed her hand on the glass, as though it was one more moment that she had with Cinna.

The tube didn’t move.

Katniss looked up in confusion at the thin strip of light above her that she knew was the Arena, before looking back at Cinna, who looked just as bewildered as she was. He lifted his hands as a way of showing her he didn’t know what was going on, and she opened her mouth to speak.

And then the door to her room slid open.

It was though she watched it in slow motion, the way the two Peacekeepers stormed into the room, stunners and batons at the ready. She didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what they were going to do. _Were they part of the rebellion? Had they come to save her before she even got in the Arena?_

She knew that wasn’t the case the moment a stunner was jammed into Cinna’s chest, and the baton followed close behind.

Katniss screamed, her voice and throat burning as she yelled for Cinna, as he tumbled to the ground, blow upon blow raining over across his head, his shoulders, well placed kicks to his stomach causing him to curl up on himself.

But her screams weren’t of any use. No one could hear her; they weren’t meant to. The only thing she was meant to do was watch, and Snow couldn’t have kept her captive in a better way.

_He wanted her to watch this._

Blood splattered across the ground, across the clear tube so that her vision was obscured. Katniss crouched, still screaming, tears pouring down her cheeks as she watched Cinna’s eyes roll back in his head, as blood poured from a wound to his head, as his arm stuck out from his body at an obscene angle. It was only then, when he was limp and unresponsive, that they stopped, and began dragging him out the door.

The last thing Katniss saw before she was finally lifted into the Arena was a trail of blood and Cinna’s feet.

_And she knew she was going to make Snow pay._

********

“It’s almost time, Caesar! Are you excited as I am?!”

“You know I am, Claudius! I _cannot wait_. And you know, I’ve heard rumours that this Arena is absolutely _spectacular!_ ”

Peeta watched on the screen as Claudius nodded his head enthusiastically, his pale blonde corkscrew curls bobbing across his head with every movement. “I’ve heard the same. And knowing that we’re practically getting an all access pass to this year’s Games just has me positively giddy!”

Peeta looked down ruefully at the camera around his neck, knowing that it was his work that was going to give them this so-called ‘all access pass’.

Claudius and Caesar continued to banter with each other, as the small counter in the bottom corner of the screen ticked over to five. Five minutes until Katniss would officially be planted into the Arena, and he had to place her fate into the hands of others.

He stood to the left of Plutarch, took a profile shot of him as he called out demands and directions to the techs. He focused on a woman with close cropped pink hair who was carefully altering the sound mix, and through the speakers Peeta could hear the chirp and call of birds intensify. He took a photo of one of the Executors, their face blank and empty as they stared at the holographic Arena.

 _Two minutes_.

He took a seat, shifted his attention to the giant screen in front of them. It focused on the Cornucopia, and Peeta’s eye was immediately drawn to the gleaming bow and arrow that sat front and centre.

He was careful to hide his smile at the sight.

 _One minute_.

He listened as the final preparations and directions were called out across the room.

_“Tributes online. Trackers activated and functional.”_

_“Cylinders dispatched.”_

_“Trouble with dock eight. It’s not moving.”_

_“Give it a second.”_

_“No, it’s still not movi- oh no, there it is. All Tributes now in motion.”_

Plutarch called for silence, and the voices subsided until there was nothing but the hum of the holograph, and the faint rustle of the trees in the Arena through the speakers.

One by one, they rose. Gloss. Cashmere. Beetee. Finnick. Mags. Johanna. Haymitch. Then finally Katniss.  Peeta’s stomach fell as he saw her tear stained cheeks, at the way her chest was heaving with sobs, and he wondered what the hell had happened. _Had Cinna said something that upset her? Was she thinking about Prim? Was she thinking she wouldn’t come out alive?_

The screen suddenly filled with the countdown, transparent numbers covering the images of the Tributes as they eyed each other – and the Cornucopia – off.

Then the counter hit zero, and Peeta watched as Katniss dove into the water without a single hesitation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the first time I've had a fic that's hit 100,000 words! I can't believe what was originally meant to be a one-shot has taken me this far...
> 
> Thank you to those who've been reading, and for your comments and kudos. They mean a lot, and are a great encouragement to continue with this story.


	17. Chapter 17

The water was salty and bitter in her mouth, nothing like the water from the lake at home. This was dense and heavy, and felt like it was dragging her under, pulling her into its depths. Maybe she should let it. Maybe if she just let Snow have his way, and she died, no one else would be lost.

But Cinna would hate that, and what she’d just seen would have happened in vain.

Pushing her head back up to the surface, she took another deep breath, then continued her strokes, trying desperately to keep an eye on the other Tributes around her - before realising her best bet was to clamber up onto a long length of rocks that led directly to the Cornucopia rather than swimming the entire way. Changing directions, Katniss swam smoothly across to the rocks, pulled herself up and began to sprint along the uneven surface. Now, at least she had an idea of where everyone was. 

Gloss was running along the pathway beside hers, tossing glares across the water in her direction at every opportunity. She could see a long lean form the next pathway over, stepping nimbly along the rocks, and there were at least another half dozen bodies splashing through the water with various degrees of ability. Without even looking, she knew there would still be some Tributes stuck on their platform, not knowing how to swim and the fear of drowning holding them back from the Cornucopia.

With her stomach pitching, she realised swimming was one thing they’d never covered in their training. 

She’d have to worry about Haymitch later.

From the corner of her eye she saw Gloss catch his foot on a rock and tumble into the water, and with a surge, she raced forward, reaching the centre of the island before anyone else did. All she wanted was the shiny set of bow and arrows resting casually against the misshapen rocks, then she’d get the hell out of there and find Haymitch.

Slipping the strap of the quiver over her shoulder, Katniss clutched onto the bow tightly, then reached down and grabbed two long, slightly curving knives that were resting on the ground beside it, sliding them into the belt that circled her waist. If Haymitch couldn’t get here, at least she could get these for him and he wouldn’t be empty handed.

She could hear the pounding of feet heading towards her, and with a start, she quickly glanced around the bed of water that surrounded the Cornucopia, trying to find Haymitch. Sure enough, as she’d expected, he was still on his platform.

Except someone else was with him.

“Shit!” She hissed, and pivoted on her foot to head towards the path that was closest to his platform. She sprinted down it, ignoring the shouts and screams and the sounds of fighting that were beginning to start up behind her, her focus on nothing but Haymitch, and getting him out of the clutches of whoever had him in a choke hold. She got as close as she could to have a decent aim, then plucked an arrow from the sheaf, nocked it with barely a second thought, and aimed.

It got the Tribute straight through the eye, and the cannon boomed overhead.

“ _Fuck me!_ ” she heard Haymitch yell, just before she dove in the water towards him. The water was murky now with blood, but she ignored it, pushed her way through until she reached his platform and burst through the surface, gulping for air.

“Geez, sweetheart, give me a bit of a heads up first, would ya?” Haymitch greeted, reaching down with one arm to pull her up. She rolled her eyes.

“No worries,” she retorted, slumping onto the platform. “Or I could just let him kill you and all next time.”

Haymitch chuckled. “Scared the shit outta me.”

“Better that than dead,” Katniss replied, and drew herself to her feet. She cast an eye across the water to the Cornucopia, where she could already see at least three bloodied bodies strewn on the rocks, and one hand-to-hand fight being played out. She turned back to Haymitch, then saw the way he was holding his arm and the look on his face. “What happened?”

Haymitch grimaced. “Eh, the bastard twisted my arm when he first got up here. Figure it’s broken.”

Katniss touched it tenderly, looked at the way the shoulder twisted awkwardly. “Maybe just a dislocation,” she told him. “We’re gonna need to sling it but I don’t have anything here.”

“Look at you, being all Everdeen healer,” he joked, then cast his eyes back to the Cornucopia. “We gotta get outta here first though.”

Katniss glanced over her shoulder to see four figures staring out at them. “Alright. You...can’t swim, can you?”

“The only thing that swims is my head with liquor,” he retorted, and Katniss sighed. 

“Alright. Slide into the water, and I’ll help you. We need to get over to that beach, and the treeline,” Katniss directed him, and he nodded. They both slipped into the water, Katniss wrapping an arm around him to tug him along much like her father had to her when she was a kid and he was teaching her to swim. Haymitch weighed a tonne, yelped in pain the entire way and she didn’t think she’d ever been more thankful when her feet dragged across the bottom of the lakebed. She let go of him, crawled towards the edge and stumbled onto the dry sand, trying to catch her breath.

“We can’t stay here in the open,” Haymitch reminded her as he dragged himself out of the water, his right hand clutching at his arm.

“I know,” she replied, and pulled herself to her feet. “We just have to get into the tree line a little ways, and we’ll be right to regroup and find...something to wrap your arm up.”

He nodded, and they moved across the sand into the depth of trees. They were different to the ones back home - the trunks long and lean, the leaves thin and as wide as dinner plates. Vines trailed across from tree to tree, and brightly coloured flowers burst through the canopy in shades of pink and yellow and purple. The air felt damp and heady, and sweat was already beginning to pearl on her forehead, even though she was barely making any effort.

“What are we even in anyway?” she asked, turning to Haymitch as they began to walk up a short incline. “This isn’t like anything I saw on the Victory Tour.”

“It’s a jungle, I’d say,” Haymitch replied, with a huff. Sweat poured from him, and with every step he winced. “They haven’t had one of these in the Arena in years.”

“And all that water.” Katniss rolled her eyes as she pushed by a low lying branch. “It’s almost like they’ve built it with their favourite in mind.”

“Their favourite?”

“Finnick Odair. Like it’s not obvious he’s the one they want to come out of here, with this Arena.”

“Well, pretty lady, I would beg to differ.”

At the sound of the mocking tone that broke into their conversation, Katniss whirled to see the man himself standing to their right, old Mags gripping tightly onto his back. He leant casually against a tree, a gleaming silver trident clasped in his hand. Flinging her arm out, she half-stood in front of Haymitch, and yanked one of the knives from her belt, waved it in front of them. “Back off,” she hissed angrily. “Or I won’t hesitate to slit your guts like I can do a rabbit.”

Finnick chuckled, and Katniss watched as his eyes slid from her to Haymitch. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “What don’t I know?” She cast a glance to Mags, who was smiling at her gummily, her grey hair an uncontrollable ball of fuzz in the humid air. 

“Err, sweetheart?” She heard Haymitch pipe up behind her.

“What?” She didn’t take her eyes off Finnick for a minute, kept them firmly on his face, and scowled at the amusement in his own.

“You know how you wanted Mags as an ally?” Haymitch mumbled.

“Yes….” Her stomach quivered nervously - she didn’t like the sound of this. 

He coughed. “Well, you got her...but Finnick is our ally as well.”

She wouldn’t have believed the words if they’d fallen out of her own mouth. “He’s what?”

Finnick grinned. “What he’s trying to tell you, sugar, is that we’re on the same team.”

_She felt sick._

********

“You couldn’t find the time to tell me?” She hissed, still careful to keep her voice low enough so that their ‘allies’ couldn’t hear her. They’d continued up higher - with Finnick in tow, much to Katniss’ annoyance- until she’d felt they were a safe enough distance from the Cornucopia. Then she’d dragged Haymitch into the trees, under the guise of finding something to strap his arm up, and had promptly rounded on him.

“Look, you had your head in the clouds over the boy-”

“I did not!”

“And it was much easier keeping it under wraps til we got in here. We didn’t need One and Two catching wind of our alliance. And anyway - I did what you wanted. You wanted Mags.”

“I also wanted Beetee and Wiress! And instead I get him!” Katniss yanked at a length of vine, tried in her head to remember how she’d seen her mother and Prim sling a miner’s arm over the years. Of course, they had thick, white bandages, and all she had was these green vines. It was going to have to do. She moved back to Haymitch, studied his arm and his shoulder. “Alright. Although I’d much prefer to leave you in pain right now, I’m going to have to try and get your shoulder back in place.”

He growled, a combination of pain, frustration and annoyance on his face. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Do you?” She countered, and he huffed.

“Do what you gotta do then.”

Reaching into her belt, she retrieved the same knife she’d brandished at Finnick, handed it to him. 

“Bite down on the handle while I do this.”

“Fine,” Haymitch agreed, clenching his teeth around it. She knew the basics - knew she had to get his arm into the right position, or she risked breaking it - but her heart still thundered nervously. What if she did it wrong?

“I’m going to try and put your arm into the right place, and then put it back into the socket, ok? It’s gonna hurt.”

“I practically lost my innards in the last Quell, sweetheart, I can deal with this shit,” he snapped through clenched teeth.

Katniss shrugged, took a hold of his arm, moved it until it was in the best position. She ignored his hisses of pain, then gripped both his arm and the back of his shoulder tightly before pushing with an upwards motion. Haymitch’s accompanying groan was guttural and pain-filled, but at least muffled. Sweat drenched his face, and he looked a little green, but the pain that had been apparent from the moment she’d pulled him out of the water looked to have lessened.

“You alright?” she asked. He yanked the knife from his mouth using his good hand.

“I’ll survive,” he muttered, then looked up at her. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she replied. “Just not anytime soon.”

He nodded, then watched as she did her best to make a sling from the thick vine she’d yanked from the tree. It wasn’t the best, but it would do. She just hoped no-one cornered him and engaged  in hand to hand. He wouldn’t have much of a chance.

And as the thought made her ill, she pushed it out of her mind.

“Everything ok back there?!” She heard Finnick call, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Fine! We’ll be there in a minute.” She turned back to Haymitch. “Are you sure about this? Are you sure about him?”

“I’d rather have him on our side than against us,” Haymitch replied. “And I’ve known him for a lot longer than you have, so cut him a little slack, alright?" He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He sighed. "Just...he's not your enemy, Katniss, ok?" He struggled to his feet, began to move through the trees back to the tributes from Four. “Now lets find some damn water. I’m frigging parched.”

Katniss followed behind silently, wondering how he’d managed to keep her in the dark. And if all anyone ever did was keep secrets from her.

 

********

He tapped his foot impatiently as the final security scan finished, and pushed his way through the door into the hidden room of the cafe the minute it was done. He breathed out a sigh of relief, the weight falling from his shoulders. For the first time that day, he felt like he could breathe, like he could be somewhere without being watched, without being seen.

He could be himself.

Peeta moved over to the small countertop in the corner, grabbed a small container filled with soda  from a mini-cooler and chugged it down until his throat felt slightly less dry. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for hours, not since the hurried five minutes in his apartment before he’d been picked up and escorted to the Control Room.

Moving over to the wall of screens, he studied the images in front of him. The footage from Twelve was grainy, but showed a main square filled with people, their eyes fixed to the images being beamed out to them. Seven revealed an empty square, bar for two people who were chained to wooden pillars in the middle - Peacekeepers making examples of rioters, he assumed - while he could practically feel the unease seeping through the screen from the people in Eleven. The main square in One, as usual, showed people laughing and joking, while the city centre here in the Capitol looked like it was hosting a party, people seated on plush lounges drinking fizzy concoctions while money exchanged hands and tallies changed on a regular basis on the odds board.

The only screen he cared about, though, was the one front and centre. The Arena.

It didn’t look like anything had happened in the short time it had taken him to get here. Katniss, Haymitch, Mags and Finnick had made camp at one of the highest points in the Arena; Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Brutus were still at the Cornucopia, continuing to make an inventory of the weapons. He was glad Katniss had gotten in there and retrieved the bow and arrows, and that she’d had the foresight to slide two additional knives into her belt. Haymitch now clutched one in his good hand, while his other arm was pulled against his chest with Katniss’ makeshift sling. It was obvious, even through the screen, that Katniss wasn’t entirely sold on her new ally - but her odds had skyrocketed, along with Finnick’s. It seemed like everyone assumed they would be the final two to battle it out, and he hoped with everything that he had that it didn’t get that far.

Peeta slumped down into one of the seats placed in front of the wall, ignoring those around him as they bustled about the room, and closed his eyes. After a mostly sleepless night with Katniss, and being alert and attentive in the Control Room all day, he was exhausted. Just two minutes, two measly minutes, and then he would seek out Cressida and find out what was happening with the hovercraft and when it would be going into the Arena and-

“Peeta!” He bolted upright at the cry, and his eyes flew open to see Cressida running across the room to him from a side-store. He glanced at the screen quickly, just to make sure something hadn’t happened to Katniss in the two seconds he’d taken his eyes off the screen, and got to his feet.

“Cressida? What’s going on?” he asked. Her eyes were wild, full of concern, and her head was covered in red lines, as though she’d been running her fingernails constantly over the bare skin.

“You haven’t heard yet, have you?” she asked, and her voice squeaked at the end.

“Heard what?”

“About Cinna?!”

Peeta felt his stomach pitch, and he reached out, gripping tightly onto her hand. “What’s going on? Has Snow captured him? Does he know about us?”

“I-” Cressida’s eyes flicked over to the screen wall, and instead of replying, she leapt forward, pressing buttons randomly on the control panel, until the sound from a screen filled with Caesar Flickerman was the dominant audio.

“And it’s such a shame,” he was saying, his eyes downcast and his hands folded deferentially at his waist. “Such a loss, not only to the Hunger Games, but to the Capitol and the country as a whole. Once again, we regret to inform you of the sudden passing of Cinna, the man whose creations helped to make us fall in love with Katniss Everdeen. He leaves us at the young age of 42, a tragic victim of an undiagnosed heart condition. Our thoughts are with his family, and his creative partner, Portia, during this time. Now...it’s back to Claudius to provide us with an update from inside the Arena.”

Cressida slapped her hand out, hitting the panel with so much force all the screens shorted and blanked. The wall was nothing but black, and the silence around the room was deafening. Looking around, he saw everyone was in as much shock as he was - some had mouths agape in disbelief, others were already openly weeping.

Wrapping his hand lightly around Cressida’s wrist, he guided her around the corner, into a small alcove. “What the hell is going on?” he hissed. “What happened to Cinna?”

“It sure as hell wasn’t a heart attack,” Cressida snapped, shrugging off his hand. “All I know is that he never came back after he went to the Arena with Katniss, and then this news just filtered through.” She reached her hands to her head, gripped it tightly between fingers taut with tension. 

“They’ve killed him, Peeta. Cinna is dead because of all of this. They must know about the rebellion. They must have figured out-”

“No,” Peeta said firmly. This was the first time he could ever remember Cressida looking so flustered - normally she was cool and calm and in control. Right now, he was worried she was going to lose it. “Look, we don’t know that for sure. After Cinna’s stunt with Katniss’ dress….I get the feeling Cinna knew the minute he made that dress for Katniss and she announced she was a Mockingjay, that things weren’t going to go well for him. I think he knew that Snow would be unhappy with him…”

“You think Snow killed him over a dress?” Cressida hissed.

“Yes!” Peeta retorted. “Or at least, what it represented. You, as well as I, know that Snow has done a hell of a lot worse. Do you think Seneca Crane deserved what he got for simply doing his job? No. Snow hates whenever anyone does anything to challenge him - isn’t that exactly the reason Katniss has gone back into the Arena? Because he thinks she’s challenging him, and this is the only way he can get rid of her?!”

They stared at each other for a moment before Cressida’s eyes dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping. “Shit, Peeta, I just didn’t expect this.”

“I know. I think...I think we’re all in a little bit of shock. But we can’t let this change anything that we’re doing. Cinna would want us to keep going.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“Go...go get a drink or something, and meet me in Plutarch’s office. Then you can fill me in on what else has happened today, and I can tell you what's happening in Control.” Cressida nodded, and he waited until she was out of sight before sagging against the wall. Cinna was dead. Likely at the hands of a henchman of Snow’s. It was too...coincidental for it to be anything otherwise. For him to go out to the Arena with Katniss and not-

_Oh no._

His stomach pitched as he remembered Katniss’ tear-stained face as she rose into the Arena, at the way she seemed to shake from the sobs. And somehow, he knew what had happened.

_Katniss had watched Cinna die._

 

********

Hours passed. Night drifted in, and Peeta curled up on his bed, watched the screen intently, though nothing was happening. 

He’d spent hours at the cafe, suddenly finding himself at the top of the totem pole. People had come to him with questions, with their concerns, and with each one he answered, he found himself more and more out of his depth. Plutarch should be doing this, or Cressida should be, not him. But Plutarch was at Control, and he’d sent Cressida home to sleep. He knew she’d been running everything for the entire day that he and Plutarch had been out, though he was at least thankful that Castor and Pollux, two of Cressida’s full-time crew members, had been there. But after twelve hours straight, she’d deserved a break.

He’d ignored her protestations, her arguments that he’d been up for as long as she had, and had ordered her home.

By ten pm, the hidden rooms behind the cafe had slowly emptied, until he was on his own. He’d locked up whatever he’d needed to, had intentionally spilled some liquor on his shirt before he stumbled out onto the street and hailed a town car, directing the driver to his apartment. He’d slurred his words, groaned sporadically, so that if anyone saw him - or the driver had any suspicions as to why he was out so late - he’d simply be accused of drinking a little too much. Then he’d climbed the stairs, showered, and fallen into bed, switching the screen on and hoping nothing of note had happened.

It hadn’t.

The tally remained at 14 living Tributes; 7 dying in the bloodbath, 3 over the course of the evening. He’d hardly watched any of them to find out what had happened. All he knew was that, so far, all those who he knew were sympathetic to the cause had survived except for Seeder from Eleven.

And that Katniss was alive. That was all that mattered, more than anything else.

She just had to stay that way for two more days.

 

********

_“The sun feels nice,” she murmured, with a smile on her face._

_“It does,” he agreed, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “We’ve hardly ever just sat here and done...nothing.”_

_“You’re right, we haven’t.” She closed her eyes, turned her face so that her chin jutted up into the sky. She enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her skin, the light breeze that danced through the trees. The grass was soft underneath her back, while her heels drummed against the edge of the concrete flooring of the rotunda._

_No one watching her would think she was going into the Arena in less than 2 weeks._

_She reached a hand out, entwined her fingers with Peeta. “What time is the train?”_

_“Three hours,” he replied, the pads of his fingers brushing slowly against the back of her hand. “Trying to get rid of me already?”_

_Katniss knew his tone was teasing, and there was nothing serious in what he said. But the thought made her heart clench. There was no guarantee that, after today, she would ever see him again. He wasn’t going to be able to come back before she left for the Capitol, and even while there, she didn’t know if she’d be allowed to see him. After all, during her first games, they’d been sequestered, hadn’t even left their penthouse except for training and interviews. Why would this time be any different?_

_She only hoped it would be._

_Rolling over to her side, she opened her eyes, fixed them on Peeta as he stared up at the sky. “You know that’s not true,” she told him. “But Haymitch will probably be glad to see the back of you.”_

_He chuckled, his chest rising and falling in time with the sound. “Probably,” he agreed. “But then again, I’m not here to see him, am I?” He turned to face her, his eyes brilliant in the daylight. He raised the arm that was furthest away from her, held his hand out to her. In it, he clutched a small dandelion. “Here. This is for you.”_

_“You know that's a weed, right Peeta?” she replied with a raised eyebrow._

_“I think it’s pretty,” he argued. “We don’t get flowers like this in the Capitol. They’re all cultivated in hothouses, grafted together from different variations. We never get anything natural. I like that about this. It’s...real.”_

_It was only in times like this that Katniss really remembered how much the falsity of the Capitol bothered him. Normally, he was so careful with what he had to say, and on the occasions where he overrode the feed in the Capitol house, they spent more time curled around each other, talking about anything and everything except the Capitol. She reached over, plucked it out of his grasp._

_“Thank you Peeta. It’s lovely.”_

_He leant towards her then, pressed his lips to hers. They were warmed from the sun, and she welcomed them; the softness, the gentleness, the familiarity of them. His hand reached up, cupped her cheek, and his thumb stroked gently over the curve of her jaw. Her own fingers tightened around the dandelion, knowing that he was her hope that maybe things that could be good again._

 

********

Katniss woke with a start, the memory of her dream fleeting and well out of grasp by the time she was upright. All she knew was that it had been good, something that had calmed her down to her bones and steadied her heart. 

Although no dream would be able to take away the pain of a rock sticking into her back.

Slowly rising to her feet, she stretched and felt her back crack with the movement. By habit, she reached for her bow and quiver, and slung them over her shoulder before looking around their camp. Haymitch was snoring his head off, leaning against a tree trunk, while Mags was curled in a ball, looking as small as a child. Katniss’ heart wrenched - not for the first time - at the idea of this sweet old woman having her life ended in this Arena. 

Finnick, meanwhile, was alert, seated on a cluster of rocks as he looked forward into the trees below them. They’d argued at first, who would take first watch, until Haymitch had unceremoniously told her to shut up and sleep. She’d glared at him, but he’d just stared her down  until she’d hunkered down beside a tree and shut her eyes.

Sometimes, she supposed, she should just listen to her Mentor.

Moving over the rocks, she lowered herself onto one beside Finnick’s. “You can go to sleep now, if you want,” she said without greeting.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly, and it was so devoid of its usual charm, that she looked over at him in surprise.

“But you’ve-”

“I said I’m fine,” Finnick snapped, and this time her mouth dropped open. He sighed, ran a hand across his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just…”

“No, it’s ok,” Katniss replied. “Actually, it’s kind of nice. Proves you’re human, and not some perfect Victor Doll.”

Finnick snorted. “Hardly,” he replied, though she saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. 

“Hardly you’re a human or hardly you’re perfect?”

“Both.”

They sat in silence, and Katniss couldn't help but remember what Peeta had told her about Finnick way back on the final stop of the Victory Tour. How his playboy image was a ruse to cover the reality - that he was being sold by Snow to men and women for the pleasure of his company. She wondered if, just maybe, the rest of him was a ruse as well. What if he wasn't as confident as he led her to believe? What if there was more to him than what she was taking at face value?

Was there even a point to finding out, if - even though they were allies for now - they were going to be forced to possibly kill each other anyway?

She opened her mouth to speak when a loud, electronic boomthundered around the Arena.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments.
> 
> Also, it's worth noting that the extent of my experience with dislocations is limited to watching sport and the first episode of Outlander. So don't try Katniss' tips at home, lol.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is a non-graphic major character death in this chapter.

Katniss swung her head around wildly, trying to see if she could find the source of the sound. But there was nothing but jungle, and instead watched as Haymitch shot upright, jolted out of sleep by the deep thudding that echoed around the Arena. His hand immediately clutched at the knife that had rested at his side, his eyes wide and confused.

"What’s going on?" He demanded, the end of his question all but drowned out by a 7th repetition.

“I don’t know,” Katniss blurted. “It just came out of nowhere.”

"Maybe some kind of signal? Or the start of an announcement?" Finnick suggested, concern beginning to coat his voice as he rose to his feet and crossed to Mags, who was whimpering and covering her ears with flattened palms. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, held her close as it sounded again and again and again, seemingly intensifying with each echoing thud. Then, almost as suddenly as it began, it was gone, and there was silence, nothing but the faint rustle of leaves and branches in the thick, cloying nighttime air.

"Twelve," Katniss finally said, looking between Finnick and Haymitch. "There were twelve of those noises. For twelve districts?"

"Possibly. Or it could just mean midnight," Finnick proposed, his eyes flicking over to Haymitch. He shrugged in response, slid the knife into the thin belt that encircled his waist, rubbed his hand absently along the bicep of his injured arm. Katniss watched as Finnick whispered something in Mags' ear, and she nodded; he gently lowered her until her feet hit the ground. 

“Maybe," Katniss acquiesced. "What’s the point in them telling us the time, though?” 

Haymitch snorted. “Do we look like gamemakers, sweetheart? Damned if we know.”

Katniss screwed up her nose as she glared at him. “Look, I just asked a simple question.”

“A stupid one.”

"It wasn't stupid."

“Well I-”

“Guys, would you shut up?” Finnick sighed, causing them both to glower at him. He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his lips. “Wow. You’re two of the biggest peas in a pod I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up,” they both snapped in unison, which caused even Mags to laugh soundlessly behind her hand.

They stood there - the two glowering Victors from Twelve, and the two smiling Victors from Four - until Finnick finally shook his head. “Look, none of us knows what the sounds mean, and there's no point even thinking about it anymore; we should just figure out what we're doing next. Do we try and sleep more? Or try and look for more water?”

“We should sleep,” Haymitch said firmly, and Mags nodded in agreement. “We got enough water in that stream earlier, and we don’t know how long it’ll be dark in here. We need to rest while we can.” 

“Then let me take the watch this time,” Katniss demanded. “I don’t need to sleep any more, and Finnick does.”

Finnick opened his mouth to argue, only for Mags to lay a hand gently on his wrist. The look she gave him was akin to one a mother would give their child when telling them to go to bed, and something twinged inside Katniss. The bond there was real, was honest, was strong. There was a love there, an affection between an old woman and a man who was a slave to the Capitol.

And it gave her hope. Because even after everything they’d been through, maybe in spite of it, these two people had managed to form a bond that Katniss wasn’t sure even an Arena could ever break.

With a reluctant nod of his head, Finnick acquiesced, sat beside Mags on the ground, allowing her to rest her head in his lap. “Two hours, tops,” he instructed, glancing directly at Katniss.

“Thereabouts,” she agreed. Haymitch nodded, lowered himself back to the ground again. He was out like a light almost immediately, Mags and Finnick not long after.

The Arena fell silent again, and she kept watch, waiting for whatever was going to come next.

By Katniss’ estimation, it almost two hours later when Finnick lowered himself to the ground beside her, drawing his legs up so he could wrap his arms around them. His trident, which was rarely out of his grasp, rested across his feet.

“And I didn’t even have to wake you,” she commented wryly.

“I’ve been awake for awhile - can’t sleep. Too much going on up here.” He raised his hand to his head, tapped against his temple with his forefinger.

“Figuring out how many ways to kill me?” she quipped.

He smirked. “We’re allies, sugar, or did you forget?”

“We can only be allies for so long,” she reasoned.

“I’ll watch your back as long as you watch mine,” he told her, then slid his gaze across, gave her a slow, languid wink. She rolled her eyes, picked a stick up off the ground and began to absently dig in the dirt around a cluster of pink and purple flowers that spread out at her feet.

They sat in silence - surprisingly companionable - until Katniss cleared her throat.  Ever since she’d seen that exchange between Finnick and Mags, she’d thought about their obvious bond, had mulled over it the entire time she’d kept vigil over her allies. “You and, uh, Mags are pretty tight.”

Finnick smiled - warmly, genuinely, so different from the usual sass filled smirk he’d send peoples way - and glanced over his shoulder at the elderly woman sleeping behind them, before turning back to Katniss. “Yeah, we are. She’s the closest thing I have to family.”

She vaguely wondered what had happened to his family, before she continued with her questions. “Was she...was she your Mentor when you won?”

He nodded. “Lucked out that year, too. The other Mentor we had at the time, Deniz, was a complete and utter asshole, so I was glad it was his year off. But Mags...Mags had absolute faith in me that I could win, did everything she could to help me. Even sent me my trident,” he mused, ran a hand absently across the pointed ends of the one that had been put in the Arena specifically for him.

“So how are you with the two of you being in here?” she asked, then regretted it the moment a very clear shimmer of pain flickered in his eyes. It was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived, and if she hadn’t been staring at him intently, she would have missed it. But it was there. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s ok,” he replied quietly. “I won’t lie. It’s tough. But I just guess the odds were against us.” Then, almost as if sensing he was drifting into dangerous territory, saying something the Capitol wouldn’t be happy for their Golden Boy to say, he winked. “Unless Mags and I start kissing a lot. Maybe if they think we’re in love, they’ll want us to be together, and then we can both win.”

Katniss snorted at the idea. “Like they’d ever allow anything like that to happen,” she told him.

“Stranger things could happen in this Arena, Katniss,” he said with a laugh.

“Maybe,” she replied noncommittally. Already bored with the stick, she tossed it over her shoulder, glanced up the faint incline of the jungle. Her brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of fog drifting down towards them, its ghostly fingers twisting around trunks and branches, gliding over tree roots, slipping over rocks. She wondered what it was, where it had come from - was the heated temperature of the Arena finally starting to drop? Was it smoke?

“Hey, what do you think that is?” she asked Finnick. 

He turned to look at it, and shrugged. “Not a clue.”

Katniss reached out a hand as it got closer to her, her fingers outstretched almost in welcome. The moment it hit her fingertips, she regretted ever even seeing it.

The pain lanced up her arm, exploding into what she imagined a million needles pricking into her skin would feel like. She yanked her hand back, clutching it to her chest as it throbbed and pulsed, as it bloomed with ugly red lumps, and let out a garbled yell. Finnick was already up and grasping at her waist, pulling her further away from it.

“Get up! Get up!” she shrieked. Haymitch and Mags jerked awake, turned to face her in confusion. “The fog’s poisonous! Go, go!”

Without question, they climbed to their feet, Mags surprisingly nimble as she leapt onto Finnick’s back. They didn’t hesitate, simply began to run, over tree roots, under branches, twisting around vines. Every time Katniss glanced over her shoulder, it seemed to get closer, as though it was moving at twice the speed they were. Occasionally it would lick at one of their ankles, dance across a calf, and there would be a moan or shriek of pain.

Finnick, trident in one hand and with Mags as additional weight, lagged behind even Haymitch, and the panic in Katniss’ chest began to rise. Through a break in the trees she could just see the glimmer of moonlight on the lake - she was certain if they could get to it, they could avoid the fog. Maybe. Possibly.

_She had no idea._

But it was the only idea she had.

“Come on, come on,” she begged, glancing over her shoulder again. “We have to move faster! We just need to get to the water!”

And then out of the corner of her eye, she saw Haymitch tumble over a tree vine, fall face first into the dirt, and slam his head into a rock.

He didn’t move.

********

Peeta’s eyes were locked on the screen in his bedroom, pillow clutched to his chest. He couldn’t breathe, everything inside him aching to be in the Arena right now, helping them. _How_ , he didn’t have a clue. That didn’t matter. He just needed to be there, with her.

Because right now Katniss was trying to drag an unconscious Haymitch to his feet, Finnick was trying to help as best he could with Mags curled around his back, and the poisonous fog was almost upon them, ready to swallow them whole.

He had no idea what it was, no idea what was happening. Was this a natural occurrence in a jungle? Was this intentional? 

Then he grit his teeth. Of course it was intentional. It was a damned Arena.

_He was going to kill Plutarch._

He watched as pain shot across Katniss' face, as a swirl of fog danced around her ankle, as it glided across her face like a finger, leaving a trail of bubbling boils and bumps on her cheek. Haymitch's prone body began to convulse as the fog started to crawl up his legs, and Finnick growled - the sound barely human - as it encircled one of his arms, burning through the thin material of his bodysuit.

Peeta could barely breathe.

He listened as Katniss begged Haymitch to wake up as she attempted to lift him, and as Finnick tried to help with one hand, even while the pain contorted his face. He watched as the fog slid closer and closer, until it was only a matter of seconds until it drew them all into its depths.

Peeta inhaled sharply as everything on the screen almost began to happen in slow motion - a sliding down to the earth, a cupping of cheeks, a smile and a farewell kiss. He still didn't understand what he was watching, not even when Finnick began screaming and begging, and a tear fell silently down Katniss’ cheek and as Mags walked into the misty clouds that were descending on them.

It wasn't until the cannon sounded that he realised what had happened.

Mags was dead.

The howl that ripped from his body was guttural and the ache inside tore him to the bone.

********

Her heart raced, while her body ached and strained and burned with every movement. The weight of Haymitch draped over one shoulder, even with Finnick helping her, made it a constant struggle to remain upright as they stumbled through the jungle towards the water. They were close, so close, and Mags....

_Mags._

Even the thought of her name made her want to drop to the ground and give up.

The fog had enveloped the old Victor quickly, gleefully. It had gathered to her, much like ants converging on a crumb of food, giving Katniss, Finnick and Haymitch the time to get away, to put some space between them and the poisoned fog. But they couldn't stop, had to keep moving, had to get to the water.

Because if they didn’t, they’d end up just like Mags.

They climbed over another log, pushed past a curtain of vines, stumbled through the final line of trees. And even as she felt the fog slicing at her, making her scream as it felt like her back was being torn to pieces, they stumbled into the sand, the grittiness of the granules scratching against her hand, and the sores that covered them. 

She was too tired to go any further. She couldn’t do it. 

Mumbling Prim and Peeta’s names with a whispered sorry, she turned onto her back and, defeated, waited for the fog to swallow her, to take her away. Then everything stopped as she looked up in shock.

It hadn’t followed them out to the beach. It was though there was an invisible wall at the edge of the trees, the fog encased behind it as it tossed and turned and swirled like it was fighting desperately to get out.

And then, almost as quickly as it had appeared, the fog was gone, dissipating into the air, leaving nothing but an empty jungle behind.

“Katniss?”

She heard Finnick’s pained moan, and she looked over at him as he kneeled in the sand, at the way he had Haymitch propped up. Her Mentor’s eyes were partially open, and even though her body was on fire, she stumbled over to Haymitch gratefully, gripped his shoulders tightly.

“Shit, Haymitch you scared the crap out of me,” she cried, wincing when each breath she took caused her back to spasm into layer upon layer of pain. “You wouldn’t wake up!”

“Immawake,” he muttered in a steady stream of words. “The fuck happened? And why’m on fire?”

He wasn’t, that was for sure, but she knew his body would be in just as much pain as hers was. Maybe even more with the way his legs were twitching oddly against the sand. She looked up at Finnick, who was now staring into the jungle, arms hanging limply by his sides, the right one twitching in much the same way Haymitch’s legs were. “Finnick,” she said, and he looked at her blankly. “Help me get him into the lake.”

He nodded, helped her drag Haymitch towards the water.

She wondered if she’d made a mistake as the water touched her skin, as it stung her ten times more than the fog. Their screams echoed around the open water, but Katniss could visibly see the water sucking the poison out from beneath their skin - it drifted through the water like cloudy tendrils, snaking away from them into the depths of the lake. They washed water over themselves until their screams were whimpers, and their skin was free from boils and bumps. Instead it was pink and inflamed and tender to the touch, but anything was better than the pain of whatever it had been covering their bodies. Whatever it was that the fog had done to them.

Katniss cleaned Haymitch’s head wound with the water, tore a tattered piece of her own bodysuit into a strip to wrap around his head.

Eventually, they lay on the sand - bodies aching, chests heaving from exertion - as they stared up into a sky bursting with stars.

********

He’d barely slept. He’d sat up until sunrise, staring at the screen every time the cameras returned to Katniss, even when she herself had fallen into a fitful sleep. Even when it was obvious nothing was going to happen.

There had been movement around the Arena during the night - strange animal sounds in the jungle, and flickers of light that almost looked like electricity - but the only canon that had sounded had been for Mags.

Peeta had tossed a shirt and pants on at random, grabbed his camera gear, and walked out of his apartment just as the first glimmers of sun had begun to filter through the gaps between the skyscrapers. Peeta hadn’t paid a lick of attention to his second favourite time of day though - the only thing on his mind had been Plutarch Heavensbee.

He’d forgone the town car that had been at his disposal, instead jumping in the first cab he saw, and now he was running over and over in his head what he’d say to Plutarch when he saw him, his fingers tapping impatiently against his knee.

None of his thoughts were flattering, and Peeta knew that, somehow, he’d have to try and reign his anger in, keep himself in check. There was no way he could lose it the way he wanted to. Not without running the risk of someone else overhearing, and it getting back to Snow - and him finding out how Peeta really felt about Katniss.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the Control Centre, the streets relatively empty at this time of the morning. He flashed his credentials towards the two Peacekeepers maintaining guard, muttered a good morning to the few Technicians he saw. There was only one Executor on shift, and the Arena was still dimly lit on the main screen, the faux sun only beginning to rise. Activity was slow in the dawn of the day.

“Plutarch here?” he asked casually, as he sidled up to one of the Techs. The man nodded, his perfectly coiffed purple pompadour solid and immobile with the movement, and pointed towards the small hidden room where Plutarch had explained to Peeta that the Arena was a clock. Murmuring a thanks, he quickly located the button that activated the door, and it slid open.

The Gamemaker sat at the small glass table, his eyes fixed firmly on the screens. He sipped at a small tumbler filled with what looked like orange juice, then finally glanced over at Peeta as the door closed behind him. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he admitted.

“I wonder why,” Peeta snarled, dropped into the chair opposite Plutarch, glared at him. “You have no idea how much I want to punch you again.”

“I think I do,” he replied, fingers reaching up to ghost along his jaw.

“You had _ample_ time to tell me,” Peeta said bluntly, resting his palms on the table. “Ample time to tell me about this fog and whatever...else is in there. Ample time to tell me, so I could tell Cinna and he could tell Adamaris.” He felt the cords of his neck strain against his skin as he clenched his jaw tightly. “And you didn’t and now Mags is _dead_.” He said the final word as a forced whisper, the word still too hard to say.

Plutarch had the decency to look away, a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you saying shit like that.” Peeta shook his head, the fury clear to see in his eyes. “Every time something like this happens, it’s always _you didn’t mean for it to happen_ or _I didn’t expect it to go this way_ or _some Victors will have to be liabilities_. Bullshit, Plutarch. We’ve worked together for years, and now is not the time to start keeping secrets. This is something you _needed_ to tell me. To tell _them_.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” Plutarch retorted, his face red. He didn’t raise his voice, but Peeta could hear the intensity in his tone. “I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I’m Head Gamemaker, which means I need to make an Arena as scintillating and exciting as possible, otherwise I haven’t done my job, and Snow would get suspicious. Plus this year it was _Victors against Victors_. Do you think a plain old Arena was going to cut it? No. Not one little bit.” He took in a deep breath, as though trying to calm himself. “I knew you wouldn’t be happy. But we couldn’t tell them everything, Peeta. There were some things we had to keep from them.”

“Not anymore. We need to warn them when we send the bread in, tell them what areas to avoid.”

Plutarch shook his head. “No, I won’t allow it.  It’s too risky. And regardless, they need to avoid all of the areas of the Arena. There are twelve sections in that circle, each section following on from the other, with a new diversion each hour. Each section has something different. They just need to learn when to avoid which area when.”

“Fine then, we tell them that.”

“No.” This time, Plutarch’s voice was firm, non negotiable. “They’ll figure it out for themselves. I know what I’m doing, and my decision is firm. We can’t help them any more, not until extraction. We can’t risk it, Peeta.”

Knowing he was close to losing it, Peeta pushed his chair back forcefully, so that the legs scraped against the floor. “You know, you say ‘we’ a lot for someone who’s making all the decisions himself.”

“This isn’t about you, Peeta. Or Katniss. It’s about Panem. I’d advise you to remember that.”

“That’s right. It’s about Panem. That’s the reason we’ve all been doing this, the reason we’ve spent years trying to find the right way to try and overthrow the government.” He looked over his shoulder to where Katniss was starting to wake up on the beach. He pointed at her forcefully. “You picked her to be your catalyst. I’d like to hope you can remember that.”

With a final shake of his head, he pressed the button to open the door, and stalked out without a second glance.

He figured he may as well start work early.

********

The day had been long, a hive of activity in the Control Room. Mags’ unexpected death had been replayed numerous times, something that Peeta had had to look away from every time it appeared on the giant screens. Instead, he’d wandered about, taking photos of everything but the screen. He’d even ventured out into the streets, capturing Capitol citizens as they watched the Games in the main square, as they laughed and joked and ate and drank, paying no never mind to the old woman who had essentially given up her life so that Katniss could live.

In the end, Plutarch had sent him home early, telling him that he’d done enough for the day. Things were still frosty between them, but if anyone noticed, they didn’t mention it. Tensions were high in the Control Room as it was - they always were as they waited for the next Tribute to die.

He’d briefly considered going back to the cafe, but he didn’t think he could face anyone right now. So instead, he’d headed straight for home, with the intention of dropping right into bed, and watching Katniss on the screen until he fell asleep.

Stepping into the hallway on his floor, the first thing he noted was the figure slumped on the ground outside his apartment door, legs outstretched, their head shrouded in a beanie that covered the shock of lime green dreadlocks that would normally stand out like a beacon. And seeing as it was one of the last people Peeta ever expected to see at his front door, he stopped dead, more shocked than anything else. Aaran had only ever visited his apartment twice before, his father and older brother Ethen only once. His mother had yet to visit, despite the numerous invitations he’d extended.

In the end, he’d given up. She obviously didn’t care enough to come and see him, so he’d learned not to care that she didn’t care.

At least, that was his aim. Somehow, it always seemed to niggle at him.

Taking a deep breath, he moved further down the hall. “Aaran?” he ventured as he got closer, and the head popped up from where it had dropped forward, chin resting on the man's chest. "Hey. This is, uh, unexpected."

His brother pulled himself to his feet, moved down the hall to Peeta with a smile. “Hey man,” Aaran greeted. “What’s up?”

“Uhh, not much. And you?”

Aaran shrugged, shoved his hands in the pocket of his pants. “Same old, same old. Bakery and babes - you know how it is.”

"Yeah, sure," Peeta agreed, though he really didn't. His life hadn't been about the bakery and babes in a long time - if ever. "So, uh..." he trailed off, not entirely sure how to ask his brother why the hell are you here?

"I guess you're wondering why I'm here," Aaran said, and Peeta nodded, grateful that his brother beat him to the punch and he didn’t have to ask. "I, uh...Actually, I don't really have long, but can we talk inside your place?"

"Of course," Peeta replied, sliding past his brother to enter the passcode into the lock to enter his apartment. The door slid open, and he stepped inside, Aaran close behind. As a precaution, he moved over to the entertainment system, put the screen on. He did a listening device scan twice every day, but he knew he could never be too cautious -  especially with not knowing what Aaran wanted to speak about. He lowered himself down onto the sofa, looked up at his brother expectantly.

“So, keeping busy?” Aaran started, dropping into the matching armchair across from Peeta.

“Yeah,” Peeta nodded. “Working every day in the Control Centre on the photography project for President Snow.”

“Cool, cool. Yeah, that’s a pretty great gig.”

“Really good for my portfolio,” Peeta agreed, then sighed, scratched the back of his head absently. “C’mon Aaran, what is it? You said you didn’t have long, and now you’re wasting time asking me about work?”

Aaran grimaced. “I know. It’s just...I know now isn't a great time. I know you're busy with work and with everything else, but I keep putting it off and-”

"Aaran, just spit it out."

His words tumbled out in a rush. "Mom doesn't want you to come back to the bakery. Or the house."

Peeta's mouth dropped open. "What? As in forever?"

"For the moment. Other than that, I don’t know.”

Peeta felt a lump rise in his throat, almost enough to constrict his breathing. “I don’t understand. What did I do?"

"Mom said you're giving the family a bad name-" 

Peeta’s mouth dropped open. "What?! But isn't the bakery getting a lot of business? My contract with the President, that interview I did with Katniss..."

Aaran shrugged, rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. He studied his hands as though they were the most important things he’d ever seen. "Business is good. Increase in revenue is good, but you know what Mom said to you last time you visited, about you and Katniss. I think you could become President, and it still wouldn't change her mind. She doesn't like people from other Districts, and a Victor to boot? She thinks the moment Katniss is de- that, uh, these Games are done, you'll be nothing more than a laughing stock that got sucked in by a Victor. That you didn’t even get your job because you can take a picture, but because President Snow asked you to do it to raise Katniss’ profile even higher." His voice cracked before he continued. "I hate saying this to you, I hate it. I'm sorry. I don't mean it. But it's how she feels."

"I know," Peeta said hollowly. "It doesn't surprise me; I've never been able to make her happy. She's never hid that I was an accident she never wanted."

"I'm sorry, Peet."

"I don't need sorry," Peeta muttered. "Is there anything else she had to say?"

“No. Well, I mean, she says a lot of stuff about Katniss, but are you really surprised about that either?”

"No.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Aaran cleared his throat. “Peet, you know I want you to be happy. We're...well, let's be honest." Aaran lifted his gaze, and for the first time Peeta noticed his eyes now matched the bright colour of his hair. The swipe of gold eyeshadow had been replaced with a line of magenta that flicked up at the end. “You've always been a little different to the rest of us, maybe better than the rest of us because you don’t get caught up in all the bullshit.” He tugged on one of the long dreads that brushed his shoulder almost ruefully. “You’re forging your own path, and I don’t think you need the bakery.”

Peeta shook his head. “It’s not the bakery, Aaran,” he muttered. “You’re effectively telling me that Mom wants me to stay away from my own family.”

“We’ll come and visit you,” Aaran promised. “Dad and Ethen and I-”

“But not Mom.”

There was another pregnant silence, awkward and stilted and uncomfortable and full of words neither had the desire to say. “No. Not Mom.”

“And if...if Katniss doesn’t survive the games?”

“I don’t know.”

Peeta dropped his head in his hands. “This is ridiculous.”

“I know, man, I’m sorry. I just....Dad thought it best you hear it from me. Rather than for you to visit and it not go well.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I guess.” 

“I-I should go.”

“It’s probably a good idea.” 

Aaran rose, Peeta mimicking the action, and they both headed to Peeta’s front door. They both stood there, unsure what to do, before Aaran reached out, tugged Peeta into a quick hug. “You’ll always be my brother, man. Don’t ever forget that.”

Peeta nodded, barely able to get any words out, then opened the door; Aaran slipped out, heading down the hallway without a backwards glance. Peeta closed and locked the door, turned and slumped back against it, sliding down until he hit the floor.

He’d known all along that siding with the rebellion might cause a conflict with his family, that they may not agree with his stance, with his decision to actively assist in taking Snow out of power. But he hadn’t expected this, not here. Not now.

The first wave of tears hit him when he realised that it didn’t matter what Aaran promised. Not only had he lost Mags, and was at risk of losing Katniss, he’d effectively just lost his family as well.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the delay of this chapter. Other writing responsibilities and a RL kicking my butt meant I got a bit behind. But I should be back to my regular posting schedule from now on. Thank you for reading - your comments and kudos make my day!


	19. Chapter 19

_“What do you think it will be like after the Rebellion?”_

_It was a simple question, but one loaded with implications. It was one that Katniss had been dying to ask since the moment she’d found out the Rebellion was real and was happening, but had been too scared to ask. Now, with nothing to lose since Snow had made the Quell announcement, she realised there was no point in holding back._

_Peeta reached his hand up, linked his fingers through hers between the pillows. The smooth, silky sheet covered them entirely, cocooning them in his bed, blocking out the world and the prying eyes. The holo system had finally kicked in fifteen minutes earlier, and she’d desperately covered his mouth with hers the minute he’d told her the Capitol was blocked. It was like this every time he came back to Twelve - their mouths hot and their arms and legs tangled together until one of them would see reason and pull back, breaths heavy as they panted against each other._

_And they’d both wish for a time and a place when they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone watching them anymore._

_Peeta chewed on his lower lip for a moment before answering. “There won’t be any games for starters,” he told her. “And no President Snow.”_

_“That’s not what I mean,” Katniss sighed, shaking her head. “I mean...will all the Districts still be separate from each other? Will I still have to sneak into the woods to hunt, or will the woods be open to everyone to go into? Will we still have tesserae, or will the Capitol give us proper food? Will there even be a Capitol?” She lifted her free hand, tucked her braid over her shoulder. “I just don’t know what to imagine.”_

_“I don’t think you can imagine it,” Peeta replied, and his fingers brushed lightly against the back of her hand. “No one really knows how things used to be before. There are so few people alive today who were around before the Games existed, and I’ve never met one willing to talk about it, because before the Games, it was the Dark Days. And no one likes to talk about them.”_

_“I know Sae never does,” Katniss mused quietly. “She’s the only one alive in Twelve who saw the Dark Days, and even then she was just a small child.” She chewed on her lower lip as a memory from long ago resurfaced. “I remember a newish Peacekeeper cornered her in the Hob once, spewed horrible things at her about how it was people like her who’d made the world the way it was today, that the Dark Days were all their fault, so she had no right to complain about her lot in life.”_

_Peeta grimaced. “That’s awful.”_

_“It was, especially because Sae never complains about anything.” Then she smiled slightly, one that curved her lips but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sae gave him what for in the end. She said nothing to him, just took the tirade, then the next time he came in to the Hob, she served his wild dog stew with a little seasoning of rat droppings. He was sick for a week.”_

_“Serves him right,” Peeta said firmly. “He had no right to say what he did.”_

_“No, he didn’t.”_

_After that they fell silent, nothing but their mingled breaths breaking the stillness, and the occasional rustle of the sheet as they moved. The evening breeze drifted lazily through the open window, and the hoot of an owl echoed in the distance._

_“You know I’ll come out to you here in Twelve, right?” Peeta finally murmured, and Katniss felt her heart soar and sink at the same time. “After it’s all said and done, I’ll come and be with you here.”_

_She firmed her lips until they felt bloodless. “You can’t do that, Peeta. There’s nothing for you here. Nothing but dirt and hunger. All your talent will go to waste here.”_

_He shook his head. “Twelve won’t be dirt and hunger after the Rebellion, Katniss, I promise you. It will be like a brand new place, the whole country will be. It doesn’t matter anyway, as long as I’m with you.” He grinned then, a smile wide and teasing. “And maybe by then, there’ll be a booming market in Twelve for wedding portraits and baby photos.”_

_Katniss rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”_

_“You don’t?” He pulled her in closer, pressed his lips gently to her forehead. “I do. That’s the funny thing about times like this, Katniss. People reaffirm their love in all sorts of ways when the world seems like it’s at its worst, or when it’s changing.”_

_“You think so?”_

_“I know_ _so.”_

_Katniss mused over his words later, once the holo had switched off and Peeta had fallen asleep.  She’d always wondered why people in the Seam bothered to get married, bothered to have children. More mouths to feed, more clothes to mend over and over again, more people to try and fit under a meagre, leaking roof every night. But she had to admit that on some level Peeta was right, and her parents had been a shining example of that. Alice Everdeen had given up her life as a merchant, one where - while not on the level of a Capitolite - she would be guaranteed to never have to worry about money or food, or whether her merchant husband wouldn’t come home from work one day. Instead, love had led her down a dusty road of uncertainty, had given her a husband and two daughters, and ultimately heartbreak in the end. But Katniss was sure that if she ever asked her mother if she regretted it, she would say she didn't, not one bit. She’d say that love had been worth it._

_Turning onto her back to stare blindly at the ceiling, Katniss thought that maybe, in the midst of a rebellion, in the midst of changing a country, there would be others who would feel the same way._

_And maybe she’d be one of them._

********

“I can’t move.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

“Get your ass moving, Sweetheart, Playboy here and I don’t have all day.”

The three of them had taken turns on watch throughout the rest of the night, listening to the sounds of the jungle, eyeing off the tree line warily in case the fog came back. It hadn’t, but it didn't stop the unease that had settled heavily over them at the worry of what still may be to come.

Eventually the morning sun had slid over the horizon, glittering over the water of the lake, taking with it the sense of foreboding and instilling a small glimmer of relief. The Arena itself was finally silent, had been since 20 minutes earlier, when a faint buzzing from another section of the jungle had abruptly shut off with the boom of a canon and the arrival of a hovercraft.

_12 tributes left_ , Katniss had thought to herself as the sound had echoed around them, and closed her eyes.

Now Finnick and Haymitch were standing over her - their damaged skin pale pink in the early morning light, Haymitch’s forehead and cheek blooming with bruises - with a demand to get moving.

“Where are we going to go?” She muttered, pulling herself to her feet reluctantly.

“Out of the line of sight of the others, for starters,” Finnick said, sticking the end of the trident into the sand. His eyes were still slightly red-rimmed, but his mouth was set in a grin. “Or do you like being a sitting duck?”

Katniss shrugged. “I just think we need to have some kind of a plan before we go anywhere.”

Haymitch folded his arms across his chest. “Look, my plan is to find our other allies. And unless one of them was on that hovercraft 20 minutes ago, they’re still alive. _That’s_ our plan.”

Katniss’ brow furrowed. “ _Other_ allies? I thought we got those already?” She gestured to Finnick, but refused to allow her mind to drift to Mags.

“I heard rumours you wanted Nuts and Volts more than me anyway,” Finnick grinned.

“Nuts and Volts? Who? What?” _What the hell was he talking about?_

“Who is right, Kitty Kat. They’re just some little nicknames Jo cooked up for our Victors from District Three.”

“That’s terrible,” she snapped, and he simply smirked in response; she turned in frustration to Haymitch. “I thought you didn’t like the idea of them as allies, and that's why I got lumped with this guy.”

“I don’t like a lot of things, sweetheart, and it ain’t stopped me before." He scratched at his arm, cringed as flakes of pale pink skin fluttered to the sand below. “We all gotta stick together to get rid of the big wigs, right?”

“So we can all just kill each other as friends later?” Katniss snapped. _This is why allies, in the end, were a ridiculous notion. Be pals, until we have to pick each other off. Stupid._

“Look, we’ll worry about that when we have to,” Finnick interrupted. “Right now, though, I don’t think we have to look very far for our _friends_.” He tipped his head down the beach behind Katniss and Haymitch and they both turned in time to see three figures stumble out of the jungle, their bodysuits intact, but their bodies covered in bright red paint.

“Well, shit,” Haymitch muttered. “I’ll be damned.”

“We all are,” Finnick replied with a shrug, then began walking down the beach, breaking into a run as he started to call out in greeting. Katniss watched as he collided with one of them, swinging the small figure up into his arms. And as Katniss got closer, her jaw set as she recognised who it was that was talking animatedly to Finnick as he plopped her back onto the sand.

Johanna Mason.

_Shit. Just her damned luck._

She and Haymitch continued down the beach at a much slower pace, arriving beside Finnick in time for them to hear the end of a tirade by Johanna. “And then we couldn’t find _any_ water, and finally thunder boomed and lightning cracked and we were like ‘thank _goodness_ ’, and then I opened my mouth to drink the water and instead drank _blood_. It was blood! I mean, what the _fuck_ is that about?”  She pushed damp bangs out of her face - dripping with what Katniss now realised was blood, and not paint - and threw out a hand towards where Beetee and Wiress had plonked themselves at the water’s edge, Wiress singing under her breath as Beetee held a hand to his back, his breathing heavy and laboured. “Then _she_ started singing and spinning in circles, and everything went to shit and we ended up huddling under some bushes in the hope we didn’t get drowned out. Eventually we managed to stumble our way through the jungle, and here we are.”

“What’s wrong with Beetee?” Haymitch interrupted, tipping his head towards the Victor from Three.

Johanna rolled her eyes. “Took a knife in the back taking a chance in the damned Cornucopia, getting some stupid wire. I mean, look at him, how he thought he’d get out of that bloodbath unscathed is beyond me.”

“Is he ok?” Katniss queried, beginning to walk towards him and away from the volatile Victor from Seven. The less time she spent around Johanna the better - she hadn't liked her in the training centre and most certainly didn't like her now.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Johanna snapped dismissively.

“Geez, you’re just full of compassion,” Katniss shot over her shoulder. "How about you care for once?"

Johanna glowered at her. “Screw you, Everdeen, and get off your high horse.”

“Jo-”

Her eyes flared in frustration as she whirled on Finnick. “No, I’ll say what I want! I’ve been dragging _his_ injured ass around this damned jungle for her and all it got me was a flood of blood and a headache from that lunatic!” She pointed a finger emphatically towards Wiress, even while Finnick grabbed her by the arm, tugging her down the beach a little ways while she continued to yell.

Katniss ignored the shouts and curses, even as they slowly lowered to barely coherent bitching, and crouched beside Beetee. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. It's just a flesh wound,” he said calmly.

“Can I have a look?”

“Of course.” He dutifully shifted around slightly, and Katniss caught sight of the gash in his suit, separated it carefully with her hands. She wasn’t sure if it was his own blood staining his back, or if it was from the rain.

“Haymitch, can you go up to the tree line and get me some leaves or moss or something?” Katniss asked absently as she looked at the wound. He grunted his acknowledgement, limping his way up to the trees, and returning with a handful of moss. He held it out to her, but she shook her head. “Just hold onto it first, I’m going to use some of the water to clean it out, and then I’ll use that as a bandage.”

The sea water stung, and Beetee did his best not to flinch as Katniss washed the blood - a combination of both Beetee’s and the rain - from his skin and the suit. It was deeper than she would have liked it to be, but not as deep as it could have been. Instructing him to sit as still as possible, Katniss tore another strip of fabric from the leg of her suit, took the clumps of moss from Haymitch, pressed them against the wound and wrapped the fabric around Beetee's mid-section, tying it in place. She looked up in time to see Haymitch staring down at her, almost approvingly.

"What?" She demanded shortly.

“You’re just...doing good,” he acknowledged.

“Oh. Thanks,” she muttered, though she looked away before he could see her flush with embarrassment. She touched Beetee on the arm, encouraging him to look at her. “It’s not as bad as it could be,” she told him. “But we’re going to have to try and get some water into you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Katniss,” he said quietly with a nod. He looked down at his hands, then around Katniss to where Wiress was now waist deep in the water, singing nonsensically to herself. “Could you please check on Wiress for me? She hasn’t been doing very well since the rain started, and I’m concerned for her.”

Katniss nodded. “Of course. Haymitch will be here to...well, I can’t guarantee to keep you company, but…”

“Haha,” Haymitch said drily, but dropped to the ground beside Beetee, leaning back on the forearm of his uninjured arm as though he didn't have a care in the world.

Katniss waded into the water, where she got close enough to hear the whispered words Wiress was musically linking together. It was the same, over and over again.

_Tick tock, tick tock, tickety tock, tick tick tock, tickety tockety, tickety tock, tick tock, tick tock._

“Hey Wiress,” she said, and with the glassy eyes and pale skin beneath the dried blood, it was fairly evident the older woman was in shock. “I’m going to help you wash off the blood, is that okay?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Wiress nodded. “No more blood, all gone!”

“That’s right,” Katniss agreed. She lowered her hands into the water, began to scrub lightly at Wiress' hair, the water running red down her face and arms. She kept singing, sometimes lightly and playfully, others with more insistence and firmness. Occasionally she'd grip Katniss' forearm, and point emphatically towards a large tree further around the bend of the beach.

"Yes, Wiress, it's a tree," she finally replied, after the fourth time of fingers digging sharply into her skin.

"No, tick tock," Wiress whispered.

"I've not heard of a tick tock tree before," Katniss said conversationally. "Is it native to Three?"

"No tree." This time Wiress' voice was quiet, almost despondent, and Katniss wondered if she was missing something. From what she could gather from Johanna, Wiress had been repeating the same thing, over and over, for hours, and if it wasn't a tree-

Suddenly the noises from the night before returned to the forefront of her mind, the memory of them reminding her of a sound she'd heard so often from the old wooden clock in the library of her home in Victors Village.

_Old wooden clock._

Her mouth dropped open as she lifted her head quickly to gaze around the Arena. 12 sounds, chimes, thuds... _bongs._

_Like a clock._

And then it was so obvious, that she couldn't believe she'd missed it, that she hadn't noticed it before - the repetition.  Same trees. Same ridges. Same cluster of coloured flowers. Over and over again in a circle. Twelve times. A central point, straight in the middle, like what minute and hour hands would normally be attached to. The Cornucopia, with its tail almost pointing towards the part of the jungle where Johanna and Beetee and Wiress had stumbled from, like an indicator to the top.

"Holy shit," she muttered in wonderment, and her hands gripped Wiress' shoulders tightly. "It's a clock."

Wiress yelped in excitement.

********

Peeta tapped his foot impatiently, scrolling on his personal tablet through the images he’d taken so far this morning. He deleted a few, played with the colour tone of a couple of others, though he knew he’d edit them thoroughly on the program he had on his home system. Mostly, he was doing anything he could to keep himself from simply staring nonstop at the big screens in the Control Room and watching every move that Katniss made. Because while it was one thing to watch for curiosities sake, it was another entirely to watch constantly where others could see him. He knew that if Snow ever got suspicious, he wouldn't hesitate to ask questions of those around Peeta, and the less they had to tell him, the better. Much preferable, Peeta mused, to have them be able to tell Snow nothing other than that he was working diligently.

He absently reached over, popped a small bright pink candy into his mouth from the dish at the corner of his temporary work station, and chewed on it quickly before beginning to swallow. Then almost choked on it when the speaker system blared to life, the musical sound of trumpets preceding an announcement.

_"Attention, attention. A sponsor donation has been received."_

Peeta lifted his head and inhaled sharply as the words echoed around Control. The entire room was frozen in anticipation, ears cocked and waiting for the Deliverer to announce the District and the Recipient. The Deliverer stood to attention in her corner of the room, her silver hair - threaded through with braids the colour of mustard - shining in the artificial light of the room. Her lips were tinted gold, and they puckered happily as everyone turned to her, while her finger hovered over the trigger that would set in motion the preparation of the gift. She cleared her throat dramatically. "A parachute is being prepared for...District 3. Beetee Latier. 2 loaves of bread from his district, one litre of water."

Peeta’s eyes immediately shot over to the other side of the room, where Plutarch stood calmly, his face revealing nothing - but as he shifted his gaze and locked eyes with Peeta, a small infinitesimal nod of his head said it all. The plan was finally in motion.

He ignored the shocked whispers and utterances - _'Who would send a gift to him?', 'Latier? He's nothing special.', 'What about Finnick?!'_  - from Gametechs whose aim it was to remain utterly neutral to the Tributes, and made his way over to Plutarch. They stood silently, side by side, and watched as the room filled with a flurry of activity as the parachute was prepared to be sent in.

"You need to go," Plutarch finally muttered. "Go to Cressida."

"Now?"

"Now. We've got until tonight. Snow has a full morning of meetings, and a dinner engagement this evening. It’s our best chance tonight, and there’s no time to waste." His eyes flicked up to Peeta’s - they were tired, if you looked carefully enough, dark circles cleverly hidden by makeup. "This is it, Peeta."

"This is it," Peeta echoed with a nod. Then his brow furrowed. "What if Snow tries to look for me this morning?"

"I'll tell him I sent you on an errand," Plutarch said flippantly. "Just get back here by mid- afternoon. He’s expected for a short while then."

"Okay. Is there....is there anything you need me to tell Cressida?"

"No. She knows what to do." Then, almost as if a switch had been flicked, a pleased smile stretched across Plutarch's face as he moved towards the Deliverer, spouting exuberantly about the parachute.  Peeta watched it play out for a moment longer, before spinning on his heel, trying to look as inconspicuous as he could while he made his way out of the building and out onto the sidewalk. There was no town car or cab for this trip - the less people who could connect him to the café today, the better.

His footsteps were hurried as he got one step closer to saving Katniss.

********

The café was abuzz with excitement - people ran around, electronic tablets in hand, earpieces clipped to the side of their heads, speaking animatedly. Cressida was huddled in a corner with Pollux and Castor from her crew, their conversation made up of a hurried combination of words, grunts and hand gestures. But the moment she saw Peeta, Cressida broke away and made a beeline for him, her eyes bright with anticipation.

"I guess they got the donation?" She started without preamble. He nodded. "Thank goodness. I had a horrible feeling it wouldn't go through."

"Nope, they got it," Peeta confirmed, rubbed his eyes tiredly with a closed fist. _The day was already beginning to catch up on him_. "2am?"

"2am," Cressida echoed. "The hovercraft is being stocked and prepped now."

"Will you be on it?"

Cressida shook her head. "No. We have a mini transport that's taking the three of us-" she pointed her thumb back over her shoulder to Castor and Pollux "-from the outskirts of the Capitol. The Hovercraft itself will pick you and Plutarch up from the roof of the Control Centre just before 1.30 to head to the Arena."

"And you know where it's taking us?"

Cressida nodded, but didn't elaborate any further - and Peeta knew not to ask. He'd tried many times before, but even with his level of responsibility and involvement, he'd always been told it was 'need to know only, confidential information'. And he didn't 'need' to know. It didn't really matter anyway; all that mattered in the end was that everything went to plan, that everything-

“Peeta, are you okay?”

He glanced back at Cressida to see her looking at him with concern, her arms folded across her chest. He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“Because you seem a little distracted.”

“There’s a lot going on right now.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it. I’ve known you for long enough now to know when something’s going on, and I need you to be honest with me, _especially_ when there’s a lot on. Are you okay?”

Peeta sighed, shifted so that he was leaning against the wall. He’d spent all day trying to forget about his conversation with Aaran, had hoped he would have been able to hide the fact that he’d hardly slept due to thinking about it constantly.

Obviously, he hadn’t done a very good job of it.

He shifted his jaw until it cracked. “My, uh, brother came to see me last night.”

Cressida smirked. “The hot one or the boring one?”

Peeta rolled his eyes, felt a little of the tension in his shoulders ease. The one time Cressida had appeared in his family’s bakery to give him an update on an assignment, she’d spent a good fifteen minutes flirting with Aaran, before Peeta had finally dragged her outside to get the intel he needed from her. “It was Aaran.”

Her grin widened. “And what did he have to say for himself?”

“That my mother doesn’t want me to return to the bakery. That I’m giving them a bad name.”

The grin dropped from her face immediately, replaced by the stony look he knew she wore most often than not. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s what he told me.”

“Asshole.”

Peeta shook his head slowly. “No, don’t blame Aaran. He was just the...messenger. It’s my mother, plain and simple.” He lifted his hand, ran it through his hair until his fingers tugged on the ends. “It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.”

“Of course it does.” Cressida leant against the wall beside him, crossed one booted foot over the other. “You know as well as I do that I didn’t have a glowing home life growing up. But I guess...if it had been any semblance of good, it would gut me to have those people most important to me turn me away.”

“Yeah.”

Cressida sighed. “You knew when you signed up for this that there would be a chance that you and your family would be on opposite sides of the Rebellion, Peeta.”

“I know.” _He’d reminded himself of that late into the night in the hopes it would make him feel better. It hadn’t worked very well._

“Maybe it’s for the best this way. Cut ties now, so it doesn’t get messy when things get serious.” This time Cressida lifted her hand, rested it gently on his shoulder. She so rarely showed any kind of affection to anyone that the motion caused Peeta to startle, until he settled under the steady weight of her hand. “And you’ll have Katniss, remember that. When all this is over, you might have lost your family, but you haven’t lost Katniss. That’s the important thing, right?”

“Right,” he agreed with a nod of his head. _Katniss was important. More than anything else._ “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” she replied, then dropped her hand and pushed away from the wall. “Now let’s get back to it. There’s shit to be done, and we’ve got to rally the troops.”

********

The morning flew by as he helped Cressida put the final preparations in place, as they directed people to do whatever was needed. There were less than ten of them that were leaving by hovercraft - the rest of them were staying behind and going back to their day to day life, waiting until the time was right for the rebellion to move into those final stages, and the time to overtake the Capitol arrived. It might take them a week, it might take them a month, before they were ready to make that final step.

But when they did, they were going to be prepared.

A piercing scream from the screen at the far end of the room drew his attention, and Peeta swung around to face it, cursing himself for being distracted by the preparations, and not watching what was happening in the Arena. He impatiently skirted his way around clusters of people packing boxes, destroying both paper and electronic evidence of their plans, breaking down equipment, until he stopped in front of the screens.

Just in time to see a knife slice across Wiress' throat, blood pulsing from the wound like a fountain as a canon sounded.

********

Looking back now, Katniss knew it had been a bad idea. But the group had been buoyed by the sponsor gift Beetee had been sent, that he'd so generously shared with them all. They'd feasted on the loaves of bread - warm and honey coloured, with faint lines that resembled wires crisscrossing the golden tops - and fish that Finnick had speared from the lake with his trident.

Wiress had cheered immediately upon knowing that Katniss realised the Arena was a clock, something they'd shared with the group the moment they got back onto dry land. Haymitch had been nonplussed, Finnick curious, Johanna downright dismissive. But Katniss had slowly pointed out the parts of the Arena that stood out to her - the repeated trees, the multiple identical ridges, the way the lake itself was divided by the long stretches of rocky pathways that made it into twelve wedges. She reminded them all of the bongs that had sounded out in the middle of the night – then pointedly reminded Finnick of his own comment about the possibility of the sounds meaning it was midnight. Something registered in her mind as she said it, about the way he’d looked at Haymitch the night before when he’d suggested the possibility, but quickly dismissed it. It probably meant nothing, and Finnick would have simply been looking for any kind of input from Haymitch.

In the end, the group had agreed that Katniss and Wiress were right – and that not only was it a clock, but it was a clock filled with a different trap for each hour.

Comparing notes of what they’d seen and heard during the evening, Beetee had noted that he’d seen lightning hit the tree near where their group of three had been moments after the bongs had finished, and he’d estimated it to be around an hour later that the blood rain had started, while Katniss knew she’d kept watch for close to two hours before the fog had begun to chase them through the jungle.

They spoke of the strange buzzing they’d heard a little further around the beach as the morning had dawned, that had abruptly shut off only for a hovercraft to arrive moments later. And even as they’d sat there on the pale grainy sand, munching on bread and discussing what the other parts of the Arena might contain, a gushing wave of water appeared from nowhere across the other side of the lake. It tumbled through a section of the jungle, the bellowing sound of rushing water almost - but not quite - drowning out the sound of a canon as it hurtled towards the lake and Cornucopia.

With a start, they’d stared at each other and realised there were only 11 Tributes left.

As she ducked behind a large rock, arrow nocked and ready, Katniss tried to remember whose great idea it had been to head back to the Cornucopia after they’d eaten, for supplies and for more weapons. But as shouts and insults, and the sound of grunting and grappling filled the air, she found she couldn’t. Didn’t have a clue as to whose idea it had been to walk up the rocky path closest to them and begin to slide knives into their belts, only to encounter Gloss as he pulled himself out of the water gracefully, his own knife in hand as he took Wiress’ life.

All hell had broken loose.

Almost as though they’d pre-empted the groups’ arrival, the Tributes from One and Two had lain in wait, had attacked the moment the opportunity arose. Wiress’ limp body floated in the water, the gash across her neck smiling grotesquely up at the sunny sky, the first casualty of the encounter.

Katniss pushed Beetee around the other side of the Cornucopia, watched as Johanna and Cashmere fought bitterly, a combination of punches and hair pulling and swipes of knives against skin until Johanna’s knife finally slid silently into Cashmere’s belly with a twist of her wrist. Finnick and Brutus circled each other warily, trident in the hand of one, spear in the hand of the other as they tried to get the other to make the first move and engage. Enobaria and Gloss were stalking Haymitch over the rocky outer ring, advancing on him with every step. With a deep breath Katniss quickly leapt to her feet, barely taking a second to aim before she sent the arrow flying through the air, its pointed tip embedding in the centre Gloss’ chest. His eyes flew over to her in shock, his mouth dropping open as he fell back into the water, his body sinking into its depths from the sheer weight of him.

As if sensing they were outnumbered, Enobaria and Brutus yelled at each other, words that Katniss didn’t understand, and they immediately sprinted towards one of the long rocky paths that led away from the Cornucopia and towards the jungle, disappearing amongst the trees.

With a groan, Katniss slumped to the ground, watched as Johanna doubled over to catch her breath, as Haymitch’s knife clattered to the ground as he leant against a rock. Finnick lifted his arm over his head and cracked his shoulder, while Beetee stared out to the water where a hovercraft was gently lifting Wiress into the air.

And then there were eight.


	20. Chapter 20

They were exhausted. He could see it in the set of their shoulders, in the way their bodies seemed to want to slump against anything they could, desperately wishing for a break. A night of running through the jungle, with nothing more than a couple of constantly interrupted hours of sleep to keep them going, had taken its toll. A fight they’d been unprepared for hadn’t helped their weary minds and tired bodies.

Peeta watched as the five of them unanimously decided to head back to the mainland, getting off what, as Johanna bluntly called it, _“this rocky piece of shit”_. Finnick picked the path he thought was best for them to take  - avoiding the one that Enobaria and Brutus had run down - and they made their way back to the beach, weapons at the ready just in case. He watched as they landed back on the sand, as Beetee gingerly lowered himself to the ground and as Katniss re-tied Haymitch’s temporary sling. They munched on tiny pieces of bread, sipped at the water that was already in danger of running out. They talked about where they thought Enobaria and Brutus had escaped to, and put forward who they thought the other remaining Tribute was that was still out there.

Peeta made the most of their mundane conversation, listening with one ear while he finished methodically clearing the history from a group of communicators, burning the internal chips until they were irreparable. It was mindless work, one that allowed him to listen as Johanna and Katniss bickered over anything they possibly could, as Haymitch told them to _“pipe the fuck down”_ , and Finnick told a joke bawdy enough that he was certain Katniss would be blushing red. He looked up, ready to smile at the look on her face, when he realised the cameras had suddenly switched, focusing on another area in the jungle. With a sinking heart Peeta realised that they’d stepped into the wrong part of the Arena at the wrong time.

If any of them had expected a reprieve, they were dead wrong.

He watched as they slowly appeared, resting on the branches of the uppermost trees in that wedge. Their feathers were wide and slick and black, their crest white, and their slightly curved beaks a muted, dull silver; the more that arrived, the lower the branches began to dip under their combined weight. Then he watched as they all appeared to take one, simultaneous breath, as though they were preparing themselves for the next moment.

His fingers clenched around the communicator in his hand, the sharp edges digging into the soft skin of his palm and breaking the skin. But he didn’t even notice the beads of blood that collected as the birds broke into flight, blanketing the jungle like a drifting black curtain, and he heard the voice of Primrose Everdeen echoing through the trees. He swallowed nervously as he realised what they were.

_Jabberjays. An example of the machinations of the Capitol, the artificial creation of a muttation that could repeat entire human conversations. Another experiment that resulted in a product the Capitol didn’t want, but would use when it served a purpose that suited them. Times like now, in the Arena._

The rebels congregated in the back rooms of the café had stopped their work to watch as Katniss sprinted towards the trees, screaming for her sister, as Finnick and Haymitch barrelled after her, yelling at her to come back. She ran over tree roots, scrambled over rocks; as her head swung from left to right, desperate to catch a glimpse of Prim that Peeta knew would never appear.

He dropped onto one of the few chairs that hadn’t already been removed, as the cameras switched back to Finnick and Haymitch; they caught the moment Finnick jumped over a low lying tree branch, then tripped and sprawled on the ground as the sound of another voice joining Prim's caught him off guard. And it didn't matter that Finnick knew as well as Peeta did what the Capitol could do to manipulate sound, to create track recordings. It didn't matter that not 2 minutes earlier he'd been yelling out to Katniss that it wasn't real, that it wasn't really Prim.

Now that Annie was screaming for Finnick, none of that mattered.

It became a cacophony of noises, of voices, until it was piercing, until even _he_ wanted to cover his ears. Annie was sobbing; Prim was calling out Katniss' name over and over again. He recognised Gale’s desperate cries, like the ones he'd uttered in the Everdeen’s kitchen after his whipping, then Mrs Everdeen's soft whimpers for her daughter. He shouldn't have been surprised when Katniss's own voice joined in - after all, she _was_ in the Arena. But he _was_ surprised, because she wasn't calling for Prim.

She was calling for Haymitch.

Peeta dropped his head into his hands as he realised the Gamemakers had used manipulated voices of people the Tributes loved to torment them. Prim and Gale and Alice for Katniss, Annie for Finnick, Katniss for Haymitch.

Then his head flew up again as he heard his own voice through the speakers, desperate and needy and broken, as it began to call for her. And the way Katniss screamed his name made him want to find Snow and kill him with his bare hands.

He watched as tears tracked down her cheeks, as she dropped to the ground, as she curled into a ball and covered her ears while the Jabberjays flew around her in a mocking dance.

********

At first she thought she was finally, blessedly, dead. The silence, the cool breeze that drifted across her skin surely meant nothing other than that it was all over, that it was all done. That she no longer had to worry about anything.

And then a hand landed on her shoulder, and she screamed.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s just me,” Haymitch murmured, slowly pulling on her shoulder until she was flat on her back, staring up at the sky. The birds were gone, nothing but trees and the late afternoon sun filtering through the branches, casting shadows across his face. Her heart was still pounding, her stomach twisting with nerves and terror and fear. Her eyes stung from tears, and her breath still hitched.

"I thought I was dead," she said quietly.

"Not quite."

Katniss slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, glancing around her at the group. Beetee leant silently against a tree trunk, while Finnick sat on a rock, his arms hanging limply between his legs as he stared blindly into space. Blood oozed from a cut along his hairline, tracing a winding track along his cheekbone, while Johanna stood beside him, a hand resting comfortably on his shoulder, her lips firmed in a straight line.

She and Haymitch didn't say anything for a long time, caught in their own heads of what they’d heard, what they’d felt. Part of her knew, after everything that Peeta had told her that the Capitol could do, that what had just happened had been manipulated, that whatever had happened had been artificial, fake.

It didn't make it any easier to bear.

Finally she turned back to Haymitch, noticed his face still had a faint green hue. "Those birds...they were Jabberjays, weren't they?" she croaked, and he nodded slowly. "It wasn't real."

"Wasn't real," he muttered.  He ran a hand down his face, scraping it along the bristles that covered his cheeks and chin, and she saw his fingers twitching, trembling.

"Did you...did you hear anyone in there?" Katniss ventured quietly.

He nodded, grit his teeth. "Yeah."

"Who?"

He didn't answer at first, kept staring off into the distance. It felt like forever before he turned back to her, his grey eyes blank and empty. "You."

Katniss blinked. "But I'm here, and I was-"

He interrupted her with a sharp shake of his head. "You couldn't hear your own voice?"

"N-no."

"Well I heard you calling for me. I thought you were in trouble, thought you'd been caught. But you were calling for Prim, for Peeta. You...you were fine. It wasn’t you."

Katniss swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. “I, uh...sorry.” _What else could she say?_

“Not your fault, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “Just glad you’re okay.”

She chewed on her lower lip, glanced around her. “Do you know if Beetee or Johanna heard anyone?”

“No.”

She frowned, wondered why only three of them had been targeted by the Jabberjays, but before she could ask, Haymitch answered for her, almost as though he could see the wheels turning in her head.

“There’s no-one left but them. They don’t have anyone that they...that’s like a family to them.”

“Oh.” It made her ache, knowing that there was no one in Panem who held any kind of importance to Beetee and Johanna, knowing that what Haymitch was essentially saying, was that they were all alone in the world. She couldn’t imagine how it would feel not to have Prim...or not to have Peeta. And Haymitch had, in the last year, reluctantly ingratiated himself into the Everdeen family. That left Finnick... “Who’s Annie?” She blurted without thinking.

Haymitch’s eyebrows drew together. “What? Annie?”

“Yeah. While...while it was happening, I heard Finnick yelling _Annie, Annie_ over and over again.”

He dropped his gaze to stare down at the ground, until he’d gone for so long without saying anything that Katniss wondered if he’d say anything at all. Then finally, Haymitch spoke, and his voice was even flatter than it was before. “Finnick’s Mentor.”

Katniss frowned at him. “I thought Mags was his Mentor?”

“She was. Annie is their Mentor for these Games.”

“Oh.” She scrubbed at a smudge of dirt on the back of her hand nervously. “Are they...friends?”

Haymitch winced as he shifted his injured arm, lifted a hand to his elbow to support it. “They’ve known each other a long time. She hasn’t done well since she survived her Arena, and she doesn’t like the Capitol. Both he and Mags would have preferred for her not to Mentor, but rules are rules, right?”

In an instant, Katniss knew who Annie was. The willowy brunette she’d seen in the halls of the Training Centre, her eyes downcast, her long brown hair tumbling down her back like knotted ropes. The girl she remembered winning her Games only because she knew how to swim while the other remaining Tributes drowned after a dam burst.

But long after her district partner had been brutally beheaded right in front of her.

She glanced over at Finnick then, at the way he was frozen in place on the rock, Johanna talking quietly to him in soft tones Katniss hadn’t heard from her before. He glanced up, caught her eye; his were filled with something she only recognised because she felt the same way about someone. And, she realised with a start, she didn’t want to ask Haymitch anything else, not anymore.

Because that look of Finnick's told her more than words ever could. He was losing something too.

“Well, it’s over,” she muttered with an edge of finality to her voice. She wiped at her tear streaked cheeks, made sure they were rubbed dry before she looked back at Haymitch.

“Yeah. Well, for now anyway,” He replied tonelessly.

The worst thing was, she knew he was right. It would never be completely over. It would only ever be over 'for now'.

********

Their bodies were covered in sweat and dirt and grime and blood. And despite what they were in the middle of, that death was likely just around the corner and it didn’t matter what they looked like, no-one found it odd when Johanna bluntly suggested they make use of the lake to clean themselves up.

They agreed to split into two groups, to make sure there were always at least two people on the lookout. And after a few minutes of half-hearted arguing, it was determined that Katniss and Finnick would go in first. He winked at her, pushed his blood-matted hair back from his forehead.

“How bout it, Girl on Fire? Ready to get wet?”

Katniss rolled her eyes, and stomped into the water, not even bothering to wait for him to follow. The sense of sorrow and understanding she’d felt for him only an hour before had dissipated in the muggy afternoon, with sweat dripping in her eyes and her suit rubbing against skin still sensitive from the fog. The despondency he’d shown during - and in the moments after - their encounter with the Jabberjays had disappeared, leaving her wondering if she’d done nothing more than imagine it.

She waited until the water was almost chest high before she stopped, then dunked her head under. She drifted there for a moment, imagined that she wasn’t in the Arena, but in the lake back home. Her father stood on the shore, a crudely carved fishing pole in one hand, a hessian bag filled to the brim with katniss plants in the other. She knew he’d be calling out to her, telling her it was time to get out, though he never really meant it.

Except when she broke back through the water, it wasn’t the warm, friendly face of her father that greeted her, but instead the pretty, chiselled cheekbones of Finnick.

At first they were quiet, nothing but the sound of water splashing and the faint echo of an expletive from Johanna across the water. Finnick began humming under his breath a little, a low tune that sounded more haunting than happy. She wasn’t really familiar with the music or customs of Four, but its sense of melancholy reminded her more of _The Hanging Tree_ , a song from her childhood, than the upbeat songs that she would’ve expected from Finnick’s district.

“How’s Haymitch’s arm? And his head?” He suddenly piped up, cutting himself off mid-hum.

She glanced up at him, surprised. “Err, I think he wrenched his arm a little during the whole…” she trailed off, scrubbed at a smear of dirt on the arm of her suit before she glanced back at the jungle. They’d moved a little further away, moved into the next quadrant. She was fairly certain all of them had wanted to be far away from the memory of those voices. “Uh, you know. Before. As for his head, I don’t think he’s concussed. But he needs stitches.”

He smiled, almost sardonically. “Maybe if you ask for them, he’ll get a parachute like Beetee did.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.” She looked out across the water, back towards her Mentor. He was staring back at them, and from this far away, she couldn’t really tell what his expression was. Was he curious about what she and Finnick were talking about?

“You care about each other, huh? He seemed pretty worried about you before.”

Katniss shrugged again, picked at some of the dirt under her nails, thought about how Haymitch had told her that hers was the voice he’d heard through the trees, that hers was the voice used to torment him. She tried to sound flippant in her reply. “Yeah, I guess we do. Once you get past the stale liquor breath, he’s alright.”

Finnick hummed under his breath in agreement. “Sometimes people can surprise you. They can be more than you expected them to be.”

“Yeah.”

“You think you have an idea about someone, and then they prove you wrong.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she wondered if this was no longer just about Haymitch, but about _himself_.

"And he loves you, you know," Finnick finally finished matter-of-factly, lifting a handful of water to his head, scrubbing at the bronze waves darkened by blood and sweat.

 _Ok, definitely not about Finnick_ , she thought as she stared back at the swirls of red and brown in the water in front of her - from Finnick’s hair, her hair, from their already tattered and torn bodysuits - and nodded slightly, her own hands absently twisting the end of her braid. She did. She did know that Haymitch, in his own awkward way, loved her.

"I mean, he’d do anything for you," he continued. "I’d go so far as to say he’d…die for you."

Katniss’ head immediately shot up, her eyes locking with Finnick’s. The green irises, normally glinting with mischief or sparkling with flirtation - even longing, as they had only an hour before - were deadly serious. He’d uttered carefully selected words, ones with two meanings. And she suddenly knew that right now, he _wasn’t_ just speaking about Haymitch. But it wasn’t himself either.

The thought of Peeta willing to sacrifice himself for her left her sick to her stomach.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she mumbled weakly.

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I think you’d be surprised what people are willing to do for you, Katniss.” This time, Finnick dunked his head under the surface, and then came back up with a burst, shaking his head and sending droplets of water flying. His eyes were still just as serious as he stepped closer to her, lowered his mouth to the shell of her ear. His breath was hot, and tickled her neck as he murmured to her. "We're going to get out of here, Kitty Kat. The plan is officially on track. Just stay alive."

She stumbled back in the water, her eyes wide with shock. _How did- Why - What did he mean?_ Something settled in her belly, a combination of confusion and surprise and - hope? Was it hope? Was Finnick saying he knew whatever plan it was that the Rebels had?

She opened her mouth to ask, but the glint in his eye as they exchanged a look said it all. _Don't ask._ Instead, thinking quickly, she scowled and flicked water at him with a quick twist of her wrist across the surface of the water. "You're disgusting," she hissed. "Like I would _ever_ want to do that."

_Better to make everyone think he'd just propositioned her than refer to a rebellion._

Finnick laughed, and this time, his eyes were full of appreciation and acknowledgement. "Ahh, no harm in trying, right?" He said with a wink. He ran a hand over his hair one more time, and then looked back towards the beach where the rest of their group sat. "Well, if we're not going to get _friendly_ , Miss Everdeen, we may as well go and re-join our colleagues."

He didn't wait for a response, simply moved towards the beach, leaving Katniss alone in the water. She watched as Finnick dropped to the sand and plucked a piece of bread from Jo’s hand, causing her to curse at him, and fake slap him across the arm. Haymitch laughed, an odd sound as it carried over the water, and even Beetee cracked a smile. Watching the four of them interact, the sudden realisation hit her that if Finnick knew something, who else did?

_And was Haymitch one of them?_

********

"That Finnick Odair! Always a ladies man, always a charmer!" Caesar laughed through the speakers, his eyes bright with amusement as he turned to look down the barrel of the camera. "Though Katniss Everdeen may go down in history as the first person to ever turn him down. She must have a will stronger than we even expected!"

 _You have no idea_ , Peeta thought, folding his arms across his chest as he stared up at the giant screen in the middle of Control.

If he was anyone else, if he hadn't memorised every look on Katniss' face over the six months they'd known each other, if he didn't know Finnick better than his own brother, he would have thought the same thing. Would have thought that Finnick was hoping for one last hurrah, one last tête-à-tête, and what better place than in an Arena with a co-Victor? Except he _knew_ that look on Katniss' face, the one that had crossed it the minute she'd pulled away.

Finnick had said something to her. About the rebellion.

It had been clever of him to lead her out into the water, the point in the Arena furthest from a listening device, hindered by the lapping and splashing of water. Give her a moment of reassurance, especially after...

He swallowed back the lump that lodged in his throat, blinked back the tears that wanted to fall. He couldn't think about Mags, or even Wiress. Couldn't think about the way he'd heard his own voice echo around the Arena, and the tears that had tracked down Katniss' face as she screamed his name.

Not here. Not now. Not when they were so close.

"Ahhh see, Mr Mellark? Even in the Arena, you still have her wrapped around your little finger. It's not often someone says no to Mr Odair."

Peeta turned to see President Snow standing on the small balcony that overlooked the Control Room, his white gloved hands curving over the steel banister. Thankfully, the President hadn't arrived before Peeta had returned from the café, and there had been no need to explain his absence. He'd simply slid back inside half an hour after the Jabberjays had disappeared, emotionally exhausted and wanting nothing more than for it all to be over.

Bringing himself back to the moment - knowing he couldn't let Snow see he was distracted -Peeta shrugged in response. "Perhaps she doesn't just want to be a notch in his bedpost."

Snow raised his eyebrow. "My, and I thought you and Mr Odair had become friendly enough acquaintances over the years."

"We are. But I suppose Katniss knows his reputation, that's all," Peeta said blithely.

"I don't think you give enough thought to the depths of her feelings for you."

"I'm not here to think about things like that - I'm just here to do my job," Peeta replied.

"That _was_ part of your job not so long ago." Snow raised one elegantly trimmed eyebrow.

Peeta tried to avoid his jaw from clenching in anger. "That part is over," he said firmly. He walked down the short path that led to the stairs, climbed up them so that he stood beside the President; the older man turned to him, his hand sliding off the banister slightly. In the clenched fist, Peeta could see the edge of a white handkerchief peeking out, the corner dotted with spots of blood. He quickly averted his gaze, lifted his eyes so they locked with Snow’s.

"To her it isn't, Mr Mellark. That was very evident in the way she reacted to the Jabberjays, don't you think?"

Peeta swallowed heavily. "What she feels and what I feel are two very different things," he said as firmly as he could. "Nothing has changed; it’s just a job, nothing more."

There was nothing but the sound of the Gametechs in the background, the occasional beep from one of the programming machines. "Exactly," Snow finally said with an approving nod. "And soon you’ll be rid of her forever. Now...about your photographs."

Peeta cringed. "Is there something wrong with them?"

The corner of the older man’s mouth turned up slightly, the oddly plumped lips stretching with the movement. “Not at all, they’re exactly what I wanted. They're just like the rest of your work. Inspired. Insightful - you have an eye for detail. I just wanted to confirm you were capturing all aspects.”

“As much as I can without physically being in the Arena,” Peeta confirmed.

“We must rectify that, post-Games. Once it’s been renovated for guests, of course. That way you can capture it in person.”

“Of course,” Peeta agreed, though he couldn’t think of anything worse.

Snow gestured to the group of 5 on the screen, as Haymitch, Johanna and Beetee returned to the beach in the dimming evening light. "Speaking of the Arena, what do you think of the Allies we have here? An interesting mix.”

Peeta shrugged. “I suppose so. They had nothing on One and Two, so it made sense for them to ally together.”

“Twelve and Three - and even that one from Seven - makes sense. But Finnick _does_ seem to be an odd inclusion, does he not?” Snow pressed.

“From what I’ve heard, Katniss made an impression on Mags in the training sessions - she was happy to ally and Finnick went along with his old Mentors wishes,” Peeta reasoned.

“He could easily leave and pick them off one by one now that Mags and the siblings are gone.”

“Makes sense to me to get rid of Two and Chaff first, then get rid of the rest after that. Remove your strongest enemies first.” The words fell easily from Peeta’s lips, as simple as though he really believed them. He was thankful Snow didn’t know that he’d practiced lines much like this in front of his bathroom mirror every morning, just to make sure he sounded like he legitimately meant what he said.

The smile was slow to spread across Snow’s face, but it was there nonetheless. “Yes, yes, Mr Mellark. They are sound tactics indeed." He glanced up at the screen, the derision clear in his eyes. His voice lowered to barely a murmur, and Peeta had to strain to hear his next words. “And I think that’s just what Finnick Odair will do. The others won’t see it coming, and we’ll have a worthy winner again.”

Peeta smiled thinly, a faint kernel of satisfaction blooming in his chest in knowing that in less than 7 hours, another one of Snow’s Victors was going to disappoint him greatly.

********

The Arena was quiet. They'd barely heard a sound - other than the rustle of leaves and breaking of water on the shore - in hours. The bread was long gone, and the meagre supply of water was now for Beetee only. He was the one most injured out of all of them, and after all, it was from his own District.

Katniss wondered why, after countless hours of doing absolutely nothing, no one in their group had tried to kill anyone else yet. It was almost as though they were content to play happy families, to sit and chat, or now, with darkness having set in hours ago, sleep in rotation while they waited for the sun to rise.

Peeta’s name still echoed in her head, and as she watched Finnick toss and turn on the sand, she wondered if Annie’s voice still echoed in his.

“We can’t stay on this damned beach forever you know.” Johanna’s sharp tones broke through her own thoughts, and Katniss turned to face her, where she sat 10 metres away.

Neither of them had been happy to draw the straw for watch together.

“What else are we going to do?” Katniss snapped back. “Go back into the jungle?”

“Yes.”

Katniss scoffed. “Did things like blood rain and Jabberjays and _killer fog_ slip your mind?”

Even in the dim light of night, Katniss could see Johanna roll her eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Brainless. I know there’s shit in that jungle. I’m also pretty damn aware - as we all are - that it’s a clock. And that it looks like things happen in this jungle on rotation. So unless somehow, someway, I’ve forgotten how things work in a circle in the last 48 hours, I’m pretty sure if we go into the jungle around here, we’ll be fine for another good 4 or so hours.” Katniss scowled, knowing that the woman had a point, even if she didn’t want to like it. “And anyway, we can’t keep sitting here pretending like we’re not in a damned Arena. Brutus and Enobaria are floating around - probably spying on us for all we know, waiting for us to leave the beach so that they can come out - and we’re doing nothing but playing happy families.”

This time, Katniss couldn’t deny Johanna’s words - hell, they’d pretty much mirrored her own thoughts from only minutes before.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking of that over the last few hours.”

Another voice joined them, and Katniss turned her head to see Beetee struggling to pull himself into a sitting position.

Johanna raised her eyebrow. “Yeah? Whatcha got for us, Volts?”

He ignored Johanna’s comment, fixed his gaze on Katniss. “I have this wire, you see, and an electrical current runs through it…”

He outlined an elaborate plan that Katniss didn’t completely understand. He spoke of splitting wires, of using them to spark against each other. That if they led the manipulated wire to the lake, and snuck back into the jungle to watch for Brutus and Enobaria, that the moment they entered the water, he could create an electric shock, one that could render them useless and allow their group to remove them from the Games.

By the time he’d run through his proposal, both Finnick and Haymitch had woken, and joined in the conversation, asking enough questions that it drove Katniss insane - but Beetee didn’t appear to mind. In fact, it seemed as though he thrived off of it, that with every question asked, and every convoluted answer given, his posture straightened, the pain on his face eked away.

Finally, she interrupted, with a question she thought they’d all stupidly overlooked. “If we’re hiding out in the jungle, how the hell are we supposed to see them in the water? Huh?”

Beetee turned, pointed his finger up into a higher part of the Arena, and a tall tree that stuck out of the jungle canopy like a spear. “One of us is going to climb that, and keep a look out.”

“I vote for you, sweetheart,” Haymitch said bluntly, turning to her. “You’re probably the best out of all of us to do it.”

Katniss shook her head. “No. I don’t want to. I don’t want to go back into the jungle. That place has brought me nothing but hell.”

“I think we have to,” Finnick told her firmly. “We can’t just keep sitting here, waiting.”

“What, you’re ready to move the time schedule up? Kill off Two, so then you can move onto the rest of us?” She snapped the words out angrily, and even though part of her continued to mull over his words from earlier, it didn’t change the unease she felt about everything. She still didn’t really know Finnick, and he didn’t know her, no matter how much he liked to think he did.

“Believe whatever you want, Kitty Kat,” he drawled. “But bottom line is, the sooner Two is out of _all_ of our hair, the better.”

“This doesn’t even sound like it will work,” she argued.

“Oh trust me, it will,” Beetee assured her.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because,” he said calmly, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up higher on his nose, “I designed this wire. And that’s exactly what I designed it for.” He glanced around the group, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You all have your weapons of choice - tridents, bows, swords. Electrical wire, my friends, is mine.”

Katniss glowered, tossing one final mutinous glance at Haymitch, who did nothing more than shrug. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m on board.”

“Me too.”

“No surprises that I want those assholes dead.”

Katniss stood, arms folded across her chest, as the four people she’d both happily and reluctantly been allied with stood firm in their decision. And with a sigh, realised that she needed to stick with them - at least for a little longer.

“Fine,” she agreed unhappily. “When do you want to go?

********

He’d holed himself up in Plutarch’s small viewing room, staring up at the screen as the group eventually made their way into the jungle. He could see the reluctance in every step that Katniss took, but Haymitch had agreed with the others, and Peeta knew that Haymitch was the one person in the Arena she would listen to. She’d had no choice but to follow.

Plus, if Haymitch had gone with Finnick and Johanna and Beetee, and Katniss hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been able to protect him. And that was exactly what he knew Katniss was thinking when she’d finally, reluctantly, agreed to venture into the trees.

But he knew she wasn’t happy about it. The jungle, as she’d bitterly told Haymitch, had brought her nothing but hell.

The door behind him slid open almost silently, only the chatter from the Control Room indicating that it had opened, and then closed as the talking abruptly shut off again.

“It’s time.”

Two simple words that Peeta felt like he’d been waiting forever to hear. Two simple words that, effectively, were going to change all of Panem forever.

He turned on his heel to face the Gamemaker, shoved his hands nervously in his pockets. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “I can’t believe it’s finally here.”

The smile on Plutarch’s face was small - he never gave much away, never wanted to show too much emotion. But Peeta could practically feel the anticipation emanating from him.

“It’s hard to believe,” Plutarch agreed, tightening the slim purple belt around his waist. “All this time has just been leading to this. It’s an important time in Panem, and we’re one of the few who’ll be there from the very cusp.” He moved over to the wall, pressed his thumb against the main power switch; the screens turned off and the lights dimmed, bathing the room in a cool blue glow. “Cressida and her crew have already departed - they got away undetected, and should have cleared Capitol airspace. As for us, we need to go out into Control, act as normally as possible, then make our way out to the elevator bank. I’ll leave first, you follow me soon after.”

“Okay,” Peeta said calmly, though he felt anything but. He wasn’t calm at all, not one little bit.

 _He was so, so close to getting Katniss back_.

“Are you ready?”

Peeta nodded. “Let’s go.”

They moved towards the door, before Plutarch paused. “Peeta, for what it’s worth…”

“Yes?”

“The voices, the Jabberjays. That wasn’t my idea. I’m sorry Katniss stumbled into that part. I'm sorry you had to hear that.”

Peeta’s lips firmed in a straight line. “I’m sorry too. But then again, I’m sorry she was even back in there in the first place.”

Plutarch nodded. “Point taken.”

The door opened, then slid closed smoothly behind them once they’d stepped through. Peeta stopped to retrieve his camera from the small counter where he’d last left it, raising it to his face and pointing it blindly towards the oversized screen. From the corner of his eye, he saw Plutarch take a moment to answer the question of an Executor before he calmly walked out the door, as though he was doing nothing more than simply going to the bathroom.

Peeta pressed the button on the camera, though he had no idea what he was capturing each time he did so. And then, when he couldn’t wait a minute longer, he pulled the strap over his head, allowing the camera to hang loosely from his neck, before he moved out into the dimly lit lobby of the Control Centre, where he could already see Plutarch waiting at the elevator bank.

“Peeta Mellark?”

The voice came behind him almost at the exact moment he heard the ping announcing the elevators arrival. His stomach turned, and his heart began to pound erratically as he slowly pivoted on his foot. The man who faced him had sapphire blue eyes and a half-crescent tattoo around his left eye that matched it in colour. His chest and shoulders were broad, muscles popping from beneath the fitted black uniform he wore. A stunner was holstered discreetly at his hip, like any and all of the security personnel within the Centre.

“Yes?”

“President Snow would like to see you at the mansion.”

“What?” He couldn’t help the force or panic with which his words came out, as he practically did a double take. “Why?”

The guard shook his head slightly. “There wasn’t much information provided, I’m afraid. Only that this evenings dinner engagement at the mansion was one he would like photographed, and be included in the Games memorabilia. There’s already a car waiting outside for me to escort you to - he expects you there within ten minutes.”

Peeta felt his breath shorten, his head become light. If he didn’t go now, he wouldn’t get on the elevator, wouldn’t get on the hovercraft, wouldn’t get to the Arena. Wouldn’t get to Katniss.

But if he did go now, ignoring a directive straight from the President, the likelihood of the guard bringing him - and Plutarch - down with his high-intensity stunner, was high. And so he had a decision to make.

Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder, to where Plutarch was standing in the elevator, his own face pale, his eyes wide in concern. And with a simple nod of his head, gave the Gamemaker his permission.

Plutarch's eyes were downcast as he pressed the button, while the doors slid closed. If the guard thought anything of the exchange, he didn’t say it, just gestured towards the hallway that led to the main entrance. Peeta followed him out onto the street, out into the car that waited for him, quietly idling by the curb.

He slid into the back seat, the leather cool and smooth against his hands as he pressed them against the fabric. And while he fought back tears, as he willed himself to maintain as much composure as he could, he saw the hovercraft shoot out into the night sky, leaving him behind.

To save Katniss, he’d do anything. Even if it meant staying in the Capitol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments. Every single one makes my day :)


	21. Chapter 21

In the fifteen minutes it took Peeta to arrive at the mansion, it was clear the rescue had begun. He’d known it from the way the communicator on the dash of the town car had started squawking, from the way a thin, clear barrier had risen between him and the driver.  

And something told him that the way the lights in the city were abruptly shutting off all around them, plunging the Capitol into darkness, had everything to do with what was going on in the Arena.

_My name is Peeta Mellark, and I am 22 years old. I am a Capitol citizen, fighting with the rebellion to change Panem for the better._

_And I’m worried I've just been caught._

The car pulled up to the curb, and he waited for the door to open, for arms to yank him out and drag him up the stairs. But they didn’t - instead, he was led to the entrance of the mansion - which was still brightly lit - with a guard on either side of him; which, in usual presidential fashion, was general protocol when visiting.  Even so, it did nothing but fill him with dread, fill him with worry.

He vaguely wondered if he would die tonight.

The carpet was thick and plush under his feet, the scent from the dozens and dozens of roses filling vases down every hallway cloying and heady. They smelt sweet, almost artificial, and he imagined he was drowning in them. The mansion itself was almost deathly quiet - all he could hear was the nasal breathing of the guard to his left, the scuff of the shoe of the guard on the right against the carpet, the faint hum of what he assumed was an alternate electricity source that was keeping the building powered.

They turned into Snow’s quarters, and for the first time, there was no lavender haired woman waiting there to take him to the Presidents’ office - instead they walked straight through the thick wooden doors unannounced. Snow was seated at his desk, eyes firmly fixed on the holograph that was streaming above it. His eyes flicked over to Peeta as he walked in the door.

“Mr Mellark,” he greeted sharply. “I apologise, but the matter of your request to come to the mansion tonight is no longer necessary.”

“The dinner is over?” he asked innocently.

“Yes it is,” Snow said bluntly. “Because this is what is currently happening in the Arena.” He shifted the holograph base slightly so that Peeta could see the image, and his eyes widened.

The Arena was ablaze. The water was an eerie electric blue, while the section he knew Katniss and the others had been in was slowly being devoured by licks of fire; orange and red and yellow swallowing up the green of the jungle. There was one limp body in the water, another on the shoreline, and a huge hovercraft was situated just below a gigantic hole in the slowly crumbling roof of the Arena.

“What’s going on?” He asked, lacing his voice with confusion. “What’s happened? Who won?”

“No one has _won_ ,” The President snapped. “From the looks of things, I’ve been betrayed.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“That hovercraft, Mr Mellark, is not one that was sent in by our Gamemakers.”

Peeta frowned. “Then what... _who_ has betrayed you?”

This time, Snow’s eyes locked on Peeta, and they were icy, angry. Venomous. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

Snow turned back to look at the holograph, and Peeta followed suit - they watched as a retrieval claw lowered from the base of the hovercraft and claimed a body, before something else caught Peeta’s eye.

Another hovercraft was lowering through the hole in the destroyed roof.

_There was another hovercraft?_

“And it’s about time,” Snow hissed, his fingernails tapping on the wooden desk angrily. “You’d think if I request something it would happen a lot quicker than this. Heavensbee wasn’t answering his comm - I had to get one of those useless Executors to make the call.”

“I’m sorry?” Peeta asked dumbly.

“I ordered a hovercraft to go and intervene the moment we were advised of the rogue ship being in the vicinity,” Snow bit out through plump lips turned firm and bloodless in anger. “Whoever this is, and however they’ve gotten Thirteen involved, they need to be stopped.”

This time, Peeta’s surprise was genuine.

“Thirteen, Sir?” he echoed. “But Thirteen doesn’t exist.”

“Yes it does,” Snow snapped, and threw his arm out in the direction of the hologram. It was the most uncontrolled Peeta had ever seen him. “That hovercraft? It’s from Thirteen. The District seal is obvious.”

Peeta’s mind whirled with every conversation he’d ever had with Plutarch, with Cressida. Thirteen had _never_ been mentioned, only that they had allies who were helping. He’d always just assumed they were secret pockets of Capitol citizens, people in high enough departments that could easily get them access to things like hovercrafts and comms and a place to station themselves while they planned to overthrow the Capitol itself.

But it wasn’t. It was _Thirteen_. Thirteen, a place that was meant to have been destroyed, that was meant to have been wiped off the map over 75 years ago through war. But the seal _was_ obvious, and the closer he looked at it, watching while it retrieved another body from the Arena floor, the more he realised it wasn’t the mid-sized one that he’d seen shoot off into the sky from the roof of the Control Centre. This was one huge, and a lot older looking than the current models from the Capitol.

It was Thirteen.

“I don’t understand,” Peeta started, then was interrupted as a compartment on the smaller Capitol hovercraft opened, and a stream of ammunition shot out towards the larger one. It jolted, and shuddered, but stayed upright and steady, then jerked and shifted as more shots were fired towards it. Suddenly, rather than returning fire, the hovercraft began to lift and headed back towards the large gaping hole in the roof. There wasn’t a sound in the room - not from Snow, not from Peeta, not from the two guards that stood sentinel at the doorway - as they watched it disappear from sight, as the Capitol hovercraft shot one final stream of ammunition out through the gap towards it.

“Dammit!” Snow snapped, the tapping quickly becoming a thumped fist against the desk. He turned to Peeta, and the look on his face terrified him down to the bones. “Who didn’t they get?” He barked, to no one in particular.

A small tinny voice sounded from a communicator on the desk. “Abernathy, Latier,  Odair and Everdeen’s trackers were dismantled the moment they left Arena airspace. Gulverson is dead, Carver is on the way out too. Mason is alive and well and with her tracker intact. She’s still in the Arena.”

“Then get the three of them retrieved immediately - and get me access to Mason!” Snow snapped, slapped a hand on the comm to turn it off. Then he turned his fiery eyes on Peeta.

“I think I’m going to have to have a little talk with our Tribute from Seven.”

********

It was cold.

It was her first thought as her eyelids slowly began to flutter open, that the ground below her back was hard and unforgiving and...cold.

Katniss spread her fingers out beside her, expecting to feel coarse, moist soil and grass under her palms. Instead, it was smooth like glass, and solid, its temperature nothing like the damp heat that had permeated the Arena.

Her eyes flew open.

She wasn’t in the Arena anymore.

Her mind fought to remember, but it was hazy, a jumble of memories and sounds and voices. Haymitch, encouraging her as she climbed the tree, as she situated herself in one of the highest branches. Glancing through the leaves and the darkness, just able to view Beetee as he carefully sat and pulled apart his end of the wire, re-twisting the brightly coloured thin streams until he was satisfied with how they were connected. Finnick, leaning against a tree and hissing at Johanna to not wander too far. The sudden faint outline of Enobaria and Brutus creeping onto the beach.

She'd risen as best she could, balancing on the wide branch, and nocked her arrow just in case, kept her eyes narrowed so she could focus on them in the darkened night.

Then they’d stepped into the water, and a minute later the deep blue fluid had lit up, fluorescent and shimmering and sparking. And while Brutus' body had jerked and spasmed and dropped to the water, Enobaria had sprinted for the beach.

Katniss had had no choice but to shoot.

She'd watched, a small glimmer of relief coursing through her as Enobaria's body had collapsed on the edge of the shore, her body half slumped on the sand.

Then the world had exploded.

Swinging her eyes first to the left, then the right, Katniss studied her surroundings - the silvery-grey walls, the thick reinforced door, the faint and almost indistinct hum of electricity and movement.  With a start, she suddenly knew where she was. She was in a hovercraft.

She'd won.

Her heart somersaulted, disbelief and shock and joy rending her speechless. _She'd won. She could go home. To Prim. To her Mom. To Peeta. To Hay-_

The grief was instantaneous and sharper than she'd ever expected. If she'd won, it meant Beetee and Finnick and Johanna were all dead.

Along with Haymitch.

The tears welled, and she didn't stop them as they began to track down her cheeks. She didn't care who saw them - one of the few people who _got_ her, who knew exactly what she was going through, who had never felt the need to pander to her, was gone. And-

"Well. Look who's awake."

Katniss' head whirled as she turned to face the other direction, her mouth dropping open. There, framed in the doorway and as alive as she was, a smirk on his face, his arm in a proper sling and a drab grey beanie tugged down over his limp black hair, was Haymitch.

"Haymitch?" She muttered, struggling to pull herself into a sitting position.

“In the flesh.”

She squinted at him in disbelief. "Wh-what's going on? I thought...I thought you were dead. I'm on a hovercraft and the Arena exploded and...I thought you were dead."

"Nope," he said bluntly.  "Those bastards ain't getting rid of me that easy."

Katniss wiped at her cheeks, swallowed heavily. "But...How...Did we both win?"

Haymitch chuckled, folded his good arm across his chest. "In a matter of speaking. The rebellion got us out, sweetheart. They rescued us."

Katniss blinked. "What?"

"The rebellion got us out," Haymitch repeated. "We're headed to Thirteen as we speak."

This time her jaw dropped, and she dragged herself to her feet, fury setting her blood on fire. "Thirteen doesn't exist. This is bullshit.  Who are you and what have you done with Haymitch?" She demanded.

He laughed. "I love your cynicism, sweetheart. I assure you it's me, we're all alive and well, and so is Thirteen. In an underground bunker no less, but they're alive. And they've been waiting for you."

Katniss rubbed at her face in confusion, pressing her fingers into the corners of her eyes to hold at bay the headache that was starting to burn. It was too much, too soon. How could she comprehend this? How could she take in everything he'd just said? They were all alive? They were on their way to Thirteen, a place up until 5 minutes ago she'd believed to have been obliterated? The rebellion had worked-

"The rebellion," she snapped, dropping her hand to her side as her heart began to thud like crazy. She couldn't help the nerves that wavered her voice. "The rebellion means Peeta. Is he here? Will he meet us there? Can I see him?"

The smirk on Haymitch’s face slowly faded, and he shifted awkwardly on his feet.

"Yeah. About that, sweetheart..."

********

_“How do you stay so positive about it all?”_

_Peeta smiled, threaded his fingers through hers as they walked through the woods, back to her house from the rotunda._

_“Sometimes it’s hard,” he admitted. “Especially when I feel like it’s becoming too overwhelming, having almost a double life. Pretending to be one thing to my family, something that isn’t entirely myself. Pretending to be loyal to the Capitol and to Snow, when all I want to do is break him. Pretending that I don’t want to be with you, when it’s the only thing I want. So sometimes I like to remind myself of all the good things in my life; I like to remind myself what I’m doing and why. And it helps put it in perspective.”_

_Katniss eyed him curiously, shoved her free hand in the pocket of her pants. “How do you do that?”_

_“Well,” he began, kicked at a rock in the roughly hewn path. “I have a…saying.”_

_“A saying?”_

_“More like sentences that I repeat to myself.”_

_“Like what?”_

_Peeta blushed slightly, and cleared his throat. “You really want to hear it?”_

_“Yeah, I do.”_

_“Okay. It, um, kind of goes like this.” He took a deep breath, focused his gaze out in front of him. “‘My name is Peeta Mellark, and I’m 22 years old. I am a Capitol citizen, fighting with the rebellion to change Panem for the better. One day, President Snow will not be in power and the Hunger Games will no longer exist. My girlfriend is Katniss Everdeen, and she’s the best person I know.”_

_Katniss rolled her eyes, even though Peeta referring to her as his girlfriend warmed her in a way that made the fear that had embedded in her the past weeks ebb away. “Shut up, Peeta.”_

_“It’s the truth,” he said with a laugh, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her waist instead, drawing her in close. He pressed a kiss against her temple. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Anyway, that’s basically it. Sometimes it changes, but that’s what I’ve been reminding myself of lately.”_

_“Does it help though?”_

_“It does. If you ever feel like things are just getting to be too much, do it. See if it helps. Just make sure I’m on your list.”_

_She snorted, but didn’t say anything in reply, simply moved in even closer to him._

_Of course he would be._

********

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I’m 17 years old, and a survivor of two Hunger Games. I’m from District Twelve, and I’ve discovered it no longer exists. I’m in District Thirteen, which I thought didn’t exist. My family is safe. Haymitch is safe._

_Peeta is not. Peeta is in the Capitol._

_Peeta is going to die_.

It wasn’t exactly what he’d told her to use it for, that warm afternoon they’d spent together, her impending trip to the Arena only weeks away and her worries beginning to weigh heavily on her. But right now it was helping to keep her tethered, even while her mind was whirling, and everything inside of her felt like it was going to break.

Haymitch had told her that Peeta had been left behind, that he hadn’t made it onto the hovercraft, that they weren’t sure what was happening to him. And she’d whirled on him so fast that he’d barely had time to take a step backwards before her hands were slapping out towards him, one cracking sharply against his cheek. Others had come in then - she didn’t know who, or where from - but they’d grabbed her by the arms, pulling her away roughly before she'd felt a sharp prick against her neck.

And then she was out cold, and didn’t wake again for another 48 hours.

Her first impression of Thirteen upon waking had been of grey. Grey walls, grey floors, grey bedframe. Even the lights had a faint grey tinge to them, so the entire room felt gloomy. Only the crisp white sheets of the bed broke the monotony.

And the yellow and purple bruise that had ridden high on Gale’s cheek.

He'd been perched on the side of her bed, staring out into space, his left leg swinging slightly against the bedframe. It hadn't been until she'd shifted that he'd looked down at her with the realisation she was awake; he’d covered her hand lightly with his own calloused palm before he'd begun to speak.

The conversation they'd had was burned into her memory, and she was fairly certain she’d never forget it.

********

_“Hey Catnip.”_

_His voice was quiet, quieter than she’d ever heard it. Even out in the woods, he’d never been able to lose the gruffness in his voice, a gruffness that she’d heard Hazel affectionately refer to more than once as his ‘Father’s grumble’._

_But there wasn’t a shred of it this time, and that alone scared her._

_“Where are we?” she whispered, her throat hoarse and achy; from what, she didn’t know, or couldn’t remember. Why had she been asleep? Why did her body feel like it was made of lead?_

_Gale clenched his jaw so hard the muscles spasmed in his cheek. “We’re safe. Your Mom, Prim, my family. We’re safe...” he trailed off._

_Katniss frowned. “Why wouldn’t they be safe? Of course they’re safe. They’re at home.”_

_He shook his head slightly. “No, they’re not. They’re here.”_

_“Where’s ‘here’?”_

_He ran his free hand through his dark hair nervously. “In Thirteen, Katniss. Haymitch told you already, remember? In the hovercraft?”_

_And in a rush of memory, she did._

_She felt her heart race, felt the anger and the worry build up inside her until the two conflicting feelings merged into a convoluted mess inside of her. The Arena exploding. The feeling of a cold, whirling breeze as she was lifted into the air. The sterile hovercraft. Haymitch, his face downcast as he shoved his hand in his pocket while he explained._

_“Peeta is still in the Capitol,” she finally muttered, her voice cracking, and he nodded. “And we’re in Thirteen.” He nodded again. “And why…” She struggled to sit up, but with every effort, she felt like she was drawn back to the bed. She was so weak, so tired, her limbs feeling limp and wobbly. In the end she raised herself on her elbows as best she could. “Gale, why is my family here? Why aren’t they still in Twelve? What’s your_ _family doing here? And you?” She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he looked away from her. As his face shifted, the lights from above glanced off his cheek, and she caught a glimpse of scratches across his temple, and another deeper one that cut sharply under his jaw. “Gale? What’s going on?”_

_“They can’t be in Twelve,” he finally muttered. “No one can.”_

_“Why not?”_

_It was moment before he answered her, the silence heavy and sombre. “The Capitol sent hovercrafts filled with firebombs within 3 hours after you were rescued. I tried to get everyone to the fence, to the woods, but I could only get so many to come. And so many didn’t make it. We walked for 12 hours straight before they picked us up…” he trailed off, and finally he looked back at her, his olive skin ashen, but his eyes stony and grey. “It’s gone, Katniss. It’s all gone. There is no District Twelve.”_

In the day following the conversation with Gale, she went through the motions. Let them do the tests they wanted to do, let them ask endless questions she gave no answers to, let them inject her with whatever drugs they needed to make her stop screaming and crying and yelling herself hoarse every time she managed to fall asleep. Because whenever she did, all she saw was a long line of burned, mangled bodies - and she was responsible for every single one of them.

District Twelve was gone.

And it was her fault.

********

It was another two days before Haymitch crawled into the supply closet she'd ensconced herself in, trying to hide from everyone and everything. He didn't say anything at first, just sat quietly, before he silently handed her a thin tablet.

"What's this?" She muttered listlessly.

"You've missed a fair bit, sweetheart," he said gruffly. "Figured you should be brought up to speed." He reached over, pressed a finger to the screen, bringing it to life. "Coin would have my head on a platter if she knew you were seeing this right now."

Katniss stared at it blankly. "Who's Coin?"

"The fair President of this dirt hole," Haymitch replied, flinging out his arm in an over-exaggerated gesticulation. "She says you're too fragile. Hawthorn and I think you should see it, so here I am."

"Gale? What’s he got to do with this."

Haymitch shook his head, pressed the screen again. "Just watch."

The vision popped to life; what looked like to be a meeting room appeared, with a large table in the middle, and the surrounding walls displaying large screens with varying images and text playing across them. Some of the faces gathered around the table were completely foreign to her.

There were those who were familiar - Haymitch, slumped low in his chair, his skin sallow and his eyes tired. Gale, eyes trained ahead on the screen at the front of the room. Plutarch Heavensbee - _his appearance alone astounded her_ \- his robust belly barely contained within the clothing that appeared to be the uniform for everyone in District Thirteen.

Finnick was there, seated in the corner of the room, almost obscured from view, his eyes blank and unfocused while he twisted a thin length of rope between his hands. The Capitol playboy was gone, and in his place was an empty shell.

But there were the others - a bald, dark skinned man with serious eyes and broad shoulders, a woman with a shaved head and intricate green tattoos across her scalp, dancing down her neck and disappearing under the collar of her shirt. Then there was the woman at the head of the table, her face expressionless, and her shoulder length hair a thin grey curtain. _That must be President Coin_ , she thought.

She looked as grey and bland as her District.

Katniss listened as they discussed the final hours before the rescue, as they talked about the rescue itself. Heavensbee shared how Peeta had been detained, and had sacrificed himself to let Plutarch go.They talked about Mags, about how Chaff lost a battle with Brutus so close to the end. And abruptly, Katniss tapped forcefully at the tablet to stop the footage before looking at Haymitch.

"You knew they were all allies," she muttered.

"Yes."

"And you knew they were going to rescue us."

"Yes."

"And you knew about Thirteen."

At this, he shook his head emphatically. "Thirteen was a surprise to me too."

She ignored the answer. "But you didn't tell me. None of you did."

Haymitch sighed. "We couldn't risk it. And let’s face it, sweetheart, you're not the most skilled of actresses. You would have spent all your time looking to the sky, waiting."

"No I wouldn't have," she said sullenly, but even she wondered if he was right.

"Look, be pissed at me if you want - but save it for another time. I was doing what I thought was right. And even though I knew, I still had to run from that psychotic fog and scared myself shitless with the Jabberjays. I'm guilty, but I'm a victim too." He absently scratched at his head, then pressed the tablet again, effectively ending the conversation.

Katniss was angry, no doubt. But even she had to admit that he was right. There were no Victors here. Only victims.

She looked back down in time to see a movement in the corner of the screen, and Finnick suddenly springing to life.

“And you were supposed to save Annie!” Finnick was yelling. It was the first he’d spoken during the entire meeting, and every set of eyes had turned to look at him. He leant forward in his chair, pointed a finger around the group. “She was meant to be here, and she’s _not_. In all likelihood, she’s with _him_.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Plutarch said soothingly. “I can’t call back to my contact in the Capitol until tonight - he’ll advise me then of any updates he has.”

“That isn’t the point!”

“Look, Finnick,” the tattooed woman started. Katniss studied her carefully, intrigued by who she was, and why she was there. “We tried. We went to the Tribute Centre, told the guards she was wanted at Control. We called up, she wasn’t there. We even went up to the apartment; no sign of her.”

“Then you were too late,” Finnick said despondently, then dropped back so that he was slumped down again.

"We don't know that," Plutarch reiterated.

"Then what _do_ you know, Heavensbee?" Haymitch demanded. “Because all I’m hearing right now are a bunch of damned platitudes.”

“I know we got our allies out of the Arena, with, regrettably, the exception of Miss Mason. I know we’re in Thirteen, and we’re making the necessary precautions to go to war. We…”

Haymitch grunted in annoyance. “He waffles on for about ten minutes, and none of is nothing I don’t already know. Press that button on the side to skip through to where Finnick stands up.”

Katniss pressed the button, the footage zipping through until she saw Finnick stand, slap his hand on the table.

“And not only is Annie missing and Johanna likely to be in the hands of the Capitol, but _so is Peeta._ Or have you all conveniently forgot that the man who’s been doing most of your dirty work for months is very likely being tortured as we speak!”

His voice grew louder and louder, until it all but reverberated through the small speakers, and Katniss' heart pitched.

On screen, Plutarch shook his head calmly, his voice firm and modulated and unruffled. "Until they realise I'm gone and they come looking for me, they won't have any reason to suspect Peeta; hopefully he'll be far away from the mansion by then. Snow had no inkling the rebellion existed - trust me, I would have known if he had - and therefore no reason to think Peeta was an informer. The only thing-" he glanced at President Coin before looking at Katniss again.  "The only thing Snow suspected Peeta of was legitimately having feelings for Katniss."

Katniss blanched as she watched it, swivelled her gaze to Haymitch again. "What? I thought..."

“Just watch,” he sighed.

"There are some things Peeta is very, very good at," the tattooed woman was saying. "But keeping his feelings for her hidden was not one of them. He tried, very well, and most of the time he succeeded."

Plutarch stepped in. "But over the last few days, Snow came to me, suspicious. I told him it was possible, but that Peeta's loyalty to the Capitol could not be shaken. That even if he had warmed to Katniss, it was likely nothing more than hormones."

On screen, Haymitch snorted. "Kid's 22, not 15 with fucking pimples. If Snow suspected Peeta of being more...whatever for Katniss, then whatever you would have said to him wouldn't have swayed him. He might be safe from being suspected as a rebel for now, but not from this. If Snow thinks Peeta's feelings are genuine, he thinks they're genuine. The end."

"Enough. How long until they realise you're gone, Mr Heavensbee?" President Coin interrupted smoothly. _Even her voice was kind of boring._

"A drone is answering any incoming calls and rerouting them to a specially formulated comm that can’t be traced. I pick them up within minutes, prepare a response, it gets sent back via message. It’s set up for another 12 hours, so that's still going to be more than enough time for Peeta to get to a safe house. One of my replies to Snow advises him that I took an emergency hovercraft out to the Arena the moment things began to happen. Helps explain the unscheduled hovercraft leaving Control," he said proudly.

This time, when Katniss switched the tablet off, Haymitch didn't stop her. "When was this meeting?" She whispered, closing her eyes.

Haymitch shifted awkwardly. "2 and a half days ago."

The Capitol would know Plutarch was gone.

********

_Screaming. Crying. Begging. Whimpering. The sound of blunt objects jarring against flesh, of threats, of hissed promises of retribution._

Peeta had heard it all in the two days since he’d been locked in the cell.

He held his head in his hands, and wondered where it had all gone wrong.

He thought he’d gotten away with it that night, when Snow had said his focus was on speaking to Johanna Mason. He’d thought he’d be able to get away immediately to one of the few safe houses he knew were located in the Capitol, to make whatever plans he needed to get out and join the rebels.

But he hadn’t.

Snow had told him to stay, to keep his camera handy in case they decided to capture _this side_ of the Games. Peeta had blanched at the thought, but had to agree. He didn’t have much choice.

He’d stayed in the mansion for over 48 hours, had been made to photograph while they interrogated Johanna, while they shaved her head and injected her with needles that made her hiss and curse and thrash wildly on the thin silver table she was strapped to. And every time he was released from duty, he would return to the room he’d been appointed, and vomit until he would dry retch. And he knew the longer he was there, the less chance he had to get away.

And by the time he _was_ finally able to leave, he’d been so emotionally wrought that he’d stumbled almost blindly through the streets, looking for the closest safe house. And that, there, was where it had gone wrong. He’d made the biggest mistake he could.

He hadn’t even thought about Snow tailing him. Hadn’t even considered that he’d get someone to follow him.

But when he’d woken up, a foul taste in his mouth, and his vision blurry, he was no longer in the bed in the safe house. He was in a cold, damp cell, and Johanna Mason was shivering across the other side of the room from him, her body bruised and bleeding, but her eyes still fierce. It wasn’t the sight of her that hurt the most, though.

It was the echo of Annie desperately sobbing Finnick’s name down the corridor.

The sound of a door swinging open captured his attention, and he slowly lifted his head to see President Snow walking towards him, his guards flanking both his sides. He didn’t even spare a glance towards Johanna or Annie, his focus on Peeta and nothing else.

“Mr Mellark,” Snow greeted, folding his hands at his waist. “I must say I’m disappointed to find myself having to keep you here.”

Peeta shook his head. “Then why are you?”

Snow tsk’d. “Now, now, we both know the reason. Your friend, Mr Heavensbee is gone, disappeared into thin air. And it doesn’t take much to figure out where. I can’t say how disappointed I am to find out he was betraying me right under my nose, and the rest of his crew. Which, by the way, includes you. So unfortunately, while it seems like while everyone else is gone, you’ve been…left behind.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peeta spat.

“You do, Mr Mellark, and I _will_ get you to admit it. Just like I’ll get you to admit your broken promises to me.”

“Broken promises?”

Snow nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, and of those there were plenty. But there’s one that strikes particularly deep. And _that_ is what I want you to admit. And you will, I promise you.”

“What, you’ll try and beat it out of me like you’re doing to Johanna?” He didn’t care how he spoke to Snow anymore. It was obvious whatever trust Snow had had was gone – and he was glad. Finally, he could speak freely.

Snow laughed, though it was more of a cackle that slowly denigrated into a bitter cough. “Oh no, that’s not for you. No, we have something better in mind. Something, I think, that will affect you more than a little bit of physical punishment.”

“You can’t do anything to me,” Peeta replied bluntly. _Katniss is safe, and alive and well. That’s all that matters_.

Snow smiled, and it was bitter and twisted and sinister. “Oh, I think we can. In fact, I know we can. Tell me, Mr Mellark. What do you know about mind manipulation?”

 

********

One week in Thirteen slowly became two.

Katniss was released from the medical ward, into Compartment 307 with her mother and Prim, though the bracelet that was firmly wrapped around her left wrist informed her she was still considered an outpatient. She’d wake, and dress, and stick her arm in the weird contraption in the compartment that printed a schedule on her arm - a schedule she paid little attention to, other than for meals. And instead of fulfilling kitchen duties, or attending an education class, Katniss would disappear. Wander the halls until she found a hidden corner, a rarely used room, an air duct, the supply closet she’d been huddled in when Haymitch found her.

And wherever she was, she’d curl herself up in a ball, and echo Peeta’s words of encouragement to herself over and over again. To pretend he was there, to pretend that his fingers were linked with hers. To stop the images of Rue and Marvel and Enobaria and Mags and the thousands of people from Twelve that she knew weren’t alive. The baker and his entire family, the teacher she’d had since she was 14, the cobbler and Ripper, the woman who’d kept Haymitch in liquor more often than not over the years. Madge.

And then as week two became week three, as she'd unwillingly come to terms with the fact Peeta could very well be dead, she finally saw him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading, and for your comments and kudos. They genuinely make my day.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I spend a lot of time procrastinating ;)


	22. Chapter 22

_"Pulse is thready, heart rate is slow. Is this a good idea right now?"_

_"We can't wait any longer, the President will be here any moment. He might just be having a short term reaction to the injection."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I assure you, that's all it is. It happens all the time."_

_"But it hasn't happened to him before, has it? He was fine for the other sessions."_

_"There's a first time for everything, Titus."_

_"Okay, wait, pulse is picking up. Good, this is good."_

_"I told you."_

_"Have you got the extra vials?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And the electrodes?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And the helm-"_

_"Yes! This is not the first time I've done this part of the procedure before, so quit questioning me."_

_"I just want to make sure-"_

_"It'll be fine. Anyway, my comm just buzzed. The President is on his way."_

_"Fine, let's get started then."_

_"This is Doctor Horatius Chiron, assisted by Doctor Titus Silverton. Preparations to continue the next step of the manipulation process is underway - initial round of injections are complete. Fifteenth round of conditioning will begin in approximately two minutes, for a total length of two hours. Observations against patients response to conditioning will be recorded again at the end of the session. Response to treatment so far is steady, with decreased levels of awareness. For the record, the subject - Mellark, Peeta - is a young male, 22 years of average height and build. No known injuries prior to conditioning, though weakened left knee ligaments suggest a childhood injury that did not heal properly..."_

* * *

_1 week earlier_

Katniss slid her arm inside the machine embedded in the wall, waited for the short, sharp pain that felt like a blade digging into her flesh before quickly dissipating into a faint tingling. She glanced at it absently, expecting it to look much like it did every other day - another day where she paid attention to less than half the instructions.

Except this time, it didn't. One entry in particular caught her by surprise.

_9am - Presidential Conference Room_

Confusion furrowed her brow as her fingers traced over the freshly inked instructions. She hadn't met the leader of the District in the three weeks that she'd been in Thirteen - and not that she wanted to anyway. She had no desire to meet the grey-haired woman who was, by default, just as responsible for Peeta being...for Peeta being missing as Plutarch.

She had no intention of attending whatever this meeting was.

Katniss silently followed Prim out of their compartment, began the trek to the communal cafeteria for breakfast. Others in grey uniforms passed by, no longer giving them the second glances the Everdeens - and the rest of the refugees from Twelve - had received when they'd first arrived in the underground District.

At first, the inhabitants of Thirteen had given them a wide birth, unsure of how to interact and associate with people who were not used to their ways and their customs. Whispers and glances were directed, in particular, to the 200 or so children who'd survived, and it always set Katniss on edge.

Especially when she realised that there had been less than ten children under 14 in the District when they'd arrived.

Prim had explained in hushed tones as they lay in bed one night of the pox outbreak that had decimated the population in Thirteen and made many in the district infertile; that the sight of so many children was something they simply weren't used to anymore. Of course, Prim's words did nothing to ease the wariness Katniss had about the situation - all it did was confirm to her why Thirteen had been so welcoming of the survivors.

The population could only increase if there were children, and if there were adults who were fertile. And for the first time in over ten years, they finally had that.

For the most part, the survivors began to integrate themselves as best they could into their new home - the children were attending teaching lessons, Prim and Mrs Everdeen began to assist in the medical ward, Old Sae helped out in the kitchens, Hazelle assisted with the mending and repairs of uniforms. Katniss knew Haymitch spent a significant portion of his time drying out on level 40, while Gale had begun training with Thirteen's soldiers, led by Boggs, the bald man in the vision she'd watched. As for the rescued Victors, Finnick had finally been released from the medical ward and was also training with the soldiers, but while he was strong physically, emotionally, the knowledge that Annie was likely to be in the hands of the Capitol had broken him, made him into a shell of the man he'd once been. And Beetee...well, she hadn't heard a thing about Beetee. She didn't know if it was a good or bad thing, and didn't have it in her to ask.

Katniss grabbed a battered grey tray from the pile near the serving window in the cafeteria, watched the small rations being loaded onto it - one small roll, a bowl of lumpy looking oatmeal, a small piece of fruit she'd learned was grown into the artificial groves they'd built on the 23rd level, a cup of water. In Thirteen they got three meals a day, specifically portioned to meet the weight, height and sustenance requirements of each individual person. No more no less.

And definitely no seconds.

Walking down the rooms centre path, Katniss headed for a half full table at the back, waited for Prim to place her tray down before she followed suit. Lowering herself onto the bench seat, she glanced across the other side, at the way Gale and his brother Rory were shovelling food into their mouths, while Thom - one of Gale's co-miners - sipped carefully at his water. Delly Cartwright, the bubbly blonde daughter of the shoemaker, sat on his other side, already enthusiastically engaging Prim in conversation.

It had been odd at first, to see the scattering of blonde heads among the refugees. Most were undoubtedly from the Seam, the olive skin, black hair and grey eyes the predominant attributes of survivors. But there were just under 50 from the Merchant sector who had made it to the woods in time - Delly and her brother, a few young couples Katniss knew had aged out of the reaping within the last three years, five complete families who lived at the edge of town closest to the Seam, and a handful of teenagers. Katniss had wondered vaguely if a late-night trip to the slag heap had been what saved them.

Now, she was used to the sight of the Merchant refugees, even felt sorry for them in a way. In the end, being from Town hadn't saved them when the Capitol came calling, hadn't given them any more of a chance than those from the Seam. From what Gale had said, it had simply been a combination of being in the right place at the right time, not being afraid of the unknown in the woods and not being too stubborn to listen to someone generally considered to be inferior.

The pleas from Gale in attempting to convince people to flee had been in vain for the majority of people past the divide.

"Get your schedule, Catnip?"

Gale's voice broke through her reverie, and she glanced at him quickly before beginning to spoon up her breakfast.

"Yeah.

"Good. We can go together."

"Go where?"

She heard, rather than saw, him sigh. "9am, meeting with President Coin ring any bells?"

"I don't want to meet with her," Katniss mumbled. "I have nothing to say."

"I don't think you have much choice."

"I don't think I care." She chewed on the bland tasting oatmeal, continued to stare down blindly at her tray.

"You have to go, Katniss. They want to talk to you about something."

"Peeta?"

"No."

"Then no."

This time his foot kicked hers under the table, and her head flew up, glaring at him angrily. "Leave me alone, Gale."

" _No_ ," he replied firmly. "You  _have_  to go, Katniss."

"Why?"

"Why?" He shook his head. "Because they saved your life. They rescued you, pulled you out of an Arena you would surely have died in. They saved us-" he waved his arm around the table, at the people who surrounded them "-even though they didn't have to."

"Somehow I don't think it's all altruistic," Katniss snapped.

"I don't care if it is or it isn't! Thirteen wants to stop the Capitol from continuing with what they do as much as we all do. It's win-win, Katniss, and all they want is just to speak with you."

She shook her head. "And you're their spokesperson or something? The friendly face trying to coerce me to go? You best friends with everyone here now?"

Gale scoffed. "If you just listened to them-"

"I don't need to listen to anyone, Gale. I'm safe, my family is safe. But Peeta is…" she trailed off as the oatmeal stuck to her throat. "Peeta is likely to be dead, and there's nothing I can do about  _that_. So as far as I'm concerned, I'm just going to eat and sleep. There's no need for me to do anything else."

"Cat-"

"Miss Everdeen?" She looked up to see Boggs standing beside the table, flanked by another man she didn't recognise. While part of her was grateful that she didn't have to listen to Gale anymore, she wasn't any happier to see him.

"Yeah?"

"Will you come with me, please? President Coin would like to see you now."

"My schedule says 9," she said obstinately.  _But at nine I'll be in my supply closet. Or the air duct. Whatever works for me today._

"The schedule has changed," he said simply, disregarding her tone. "You're required in 5 minutes."

"What if I don't want to go?"

The corner of Boggs mouth turned up, but she didn't know if was in a smile or a grimace. "You don't have an option, Miss Everdeen. We will take you there whether you like it or not. Please," he gestured with his left arm towards the exit, "This way."

Katniss glanced at Gale, who was already rising from his seat, at Prim who was watching the exchange with interest, at the rest of the group who were listening and doing a poor job of pretending they weren't.

"Fine," she muttered, sliding off the side of the bench seat. The sooner she got this over with, she supposed, the better.

* * *

She hadn't known what to expect when she'd been escorted down the bland corridors, nothing but blank grey walls broken up by steel doors. Maybe just her and Gale and the President in another blank, grey room, while the President waxed lyrical about how thankful and grateful Katniss should be that her district took them all in.

And part of her was. But the other part kept reminding her how many people were dead just because of her.

Walking in, she realised that she hadn't even considered that Plutarch would be in the room. Or Haymitch.

Without muttering a word, Katniss lowered herself into the chair she was directed to, stared at her knees. She felt Gale take the seat beside her, saw Boggs stand to attention beside the doorway out of the corner of her eye.

"Miss Everdeen, my apologies that it's taken so long for us to meet." The President's voice had little inflection, as though any change in tone would give away a secret. Katniss shrugged in response, waited for Coin to continue. "But I felt it was time for you to be told what's been happening. What will be happening."

"Do you know anything about Peeta?" The words fell from her lips before she could stop them. She looked up this time, training her gaze on Plutarch.

"Miss Everdeen - Katniss - we're here to talk to you about what's been happening in Panem since you arrived here," Coin said firmly, ignoring the question, and directing Katniss' gaze back to her. "The country is divided, many districts are in open rebellion against the Capitol. Some are close, very close, to joining us, and we need a spark to get them over the line. They're scared, and they're still not convinced that a rebellion is a good idea. They still don't think that you're going to be of any help. Many of them think you're dead."

"Let them," Katniss muttered.

This time, before Coin could open her mouth, Plutarch jumped in. "Katniss, letting people think you're dead is not an option. From the moment you volunteered for your sister, people knew there was something different about you, something they could believe in. Your actions in the Games only intensified that, and almost immediately after you were named Victor, plans began to be put into place. Plans that, prior to then, had only ever been a pipe dream. Plans of rebellion, of taking over the Capitol."

"And I only got told when it was appropriate and even then I didn't know everything."  _Oh how that burned, even now._

"I'm sure you're aware how risky it would have been for you to know any more than what you did. We needed to ensure the plan went off without a hitch."

"And it still didn't." She set her jaw, looked back down at the ground.

"It came close," Coin replied. "And while you may not be happy with the outcome, we cannot look past the fact that for the first time in over 75 years, our country is on the brink of war, ready to take the Capitol to trial for the crimes it has committed against the people of Panem. And we need you to lead it. We need you to unify the people of Panem against President Snow. We need you to be our Mockingjay."

This time Katniss' head flew up so quickly she almost thought it would tumble off from the sheer force. "Your  _Mockingjay_? Lead a war? Are you kidding?" Her heart hitched in her chest, her breathing coming rapidly. The words tumbled out of her without thinking, even as the tears began to well in her eyes. "I've been through two Hunger Games. My district was burned to the ground, taking most of its inhabitants with it. My...Peeta was left behind, for Snow to do who knows what to. He's probably dead. And now you want me to lead a  _war_? How can I lead a war when I can barely get out of bed?!"

"You weren't supposed to happen, Katniss," Plutarch said smoothly, as though she hadn't spoken. "You were just supposed to go into the Games like every other tribute from Twelve for the past 23 years. You were supposed to make no impact, to die with little fanfare. Instead, you ignited in people something that had been missing for a long time. Hope. And hope leads to courage. Courage leads to a need to do whats right. And for far too long now, President Snow has run Panem as he sees fit, and we're not going to take it any longer. Just like the Mockingjay became something the Capitol didn't expect, so did you. That's why you have to be our Mockingjay."

Katniss inhaled sharply, looked around the room at the others in there. Haymitch, who was scratching at the back of his hand, looking everywhere but at her. At Gale, who was studying her with so much intensity she could almost feel it emanating from him. At Boggs, who did nothing but stare straight ahead, as though he hadn't listened to a word that had been said. And Plutarch and Coin, who both looked at her expectantly. As though she was meant to fall at their feet and accept.

"No."

Coin blinked. "Excuse me?"

"No." She tried to keep her voice strong, unbroken, but she knew she was failing. She closed her eyes. "I won't do it. I can't. I'm nothing. I'm nothing to them, and I'm nothing to me."

"This is pointless," she heard Coin hiss at Plutarch. "She's no use to us at all. She can't lead anyone."

"You have to give her a reason to want to fight," Plutarch said softly. "Let her see it."

"No."

"You should let her go there, Coin." This time it was Haymitch who spoke up. "You've seen it, I've seen it - she hasn't."

Katniss continued to sit silently, not bothering to participate in the conversation. She didn't want to know what they were talking about, didn't particularly care.

"How will seeing Twelve benefit her in any way?" Coin snapped, and this time Katniss' eyes flew open.  _Twelve?_

"Yes," she croaked suddenly, and 5 pairs of eyes all turned to her. "Let me go and see it. I want to. I have to."  _So badly she had to, even if the thought alone terrified her._

"No," Coin said firmly. "You need to be here."

"No, I need to see it. It's my home." Katniss turned to look at Haymitch, her eyes pleading. "Haymitch…" She didn't say anything more; she didn't have to.

"Let her go," Haymitch repeated, this time with the edge of a man who needed a drink and wasn't going to get one. "She's not going to agree to anything without knowing, without  _seeing_ , what's happened there."

It was a silent battle of wills - Coin glowering at Haymitch, Haymitch narrowing his eyes at Coin, Plutarch looking on in amusement, as though he was picturing it on television in his head.

Finally Coin sighed, and when she spoke, her annoyance was evident. "Fine. But you're going now, we're not wasting any more time with this. Boggs, Abernathy, Hawthorne, you'll go with her. You'll leave in fifteen minutes. And I expect a more suitable answer from you, Katniss, when you return."

* * *

It was worse than she'd imagined. As the hovercraft lifted back into the air to return to Thirteen, Katniss stared out the window to the decimated ground below.

Twelve was a wasteland.

She'd asked to go down alone, and while she'd felt the impatience from Gale, he hadn't questioned her. Haymitch had simply slumped in one of the seats, hadn't uttered a word.

They'd dropped her off outside the Justice Building - or at least the shell of what was left of it. She'd stared at it, remembering the years she'd stood in this very same square, wishing her name wasn't called, wishing Prim's name wasn't called; and inevitably, hearing them both.

She'd left the ruins behind to walk through the centre of town, and  _that_  was when it had hit her. She'd come around the corner, ready to see the bakery, the shoesmith, the butcher. And there'd been nothing. Nothing but ash and soot, and tendrils of smoke that had still danced through the air. A tall column of brick here, the misshapen lump of a stove there.

And then there'd been the bodies.

They'd been everywhere, and Katniss hadn't been able to stop herself from retching on the ground as they'd slowly come into view. At first she'd thought it had all just been part of the rubble, but the closer she'd looked, the more she realised what she was seeing.

Burned beyond recognition, people she had known or seen for her entire life now no longer alive, no longer identifiable. All because of her. All because she hadn't done what the Capitol wanted her to do.

_Die quietly._

Eventually, she'd dragged herself through town, her cheeks tear dampened, her vision blurry with eyes swollen from crying. She'd slowly made her way to Victors Village, which, compared to the rest of Twelve, had been mostly undamaged. From her house, she'd gathered medicines and vials and plant extracts that she knew her mother and Prim could use in Thirteen, picked up some of Prim's hair ribbons, a picture of her parents on their wedding day. Her satchel and her fathers old hunting jacket had still been in the closet in the mudroom, and she'd clutched them to her chest gratefully before moving to the library to collect the plant book that had been in her family for years.

Not only was it full of memories, it was full of knowledge that shouldn't be forgotten.

She'd already turned back towards the door ready to leave before she'd smelt it, and it had taken her a moment of frantically searching the room with her eyes until she'd realised what it was. A single pale, white rose tucked in the vase in the middle of the desk, the stems and petals of dead flowers surrounding it.

The scent had been enough to make her choke on her own breath, and she'd known immediately where it had come from, why it had been there.

Snow. For her.

He would have known she'd need to see the devastation, and he'd left it there as a reminder that he hadn't forgotten her.

Katniss had lowered herself onto the sofa then, stared at the flower blindly, willing herself to find the motivation to move, to call for the hovercraft, her mind full of nothing but Snow. And then had almost screamed when something furry had brushed past her legs.

She shouldn't have been surprised that the only thing to survive in the District had been the damned mangy orange cat that she'd hated and Prim had loved. He'd swiped at her ankle, and she'd grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, glared reproachfully while he hissed back at her. And had known that while she couldn't do much back in Thirteen, she could at least do one thing right, and give him back to Prim.

She didn't even care that Thirteen had restrictions against pets.

Buttercup had snarled and clawed as she'd put him in her satchel, and eventually Katniss had stumbled her way back outside, contacted Gale with the comm he'd given her. She'd waited silently, her back to the destruction in town behind her, Buttercup wriggling around impatiently in the bag. And by the time she'd stepped back onto the hovercraft, her tears had dried, and she'd placed Snow in a part of mind where she wouldn't think of him now. She'd think of him later. When she was alone, and she could.

* * *

"I got something you need to see."

Katniss glanced up to see Haymitch lowering himself into the seat beside her. Gale was up front with Boggs and the pilot, leaving the two of them alone.

She shook her head. "I think I've seen enough today."

"Enough to get you to lead their army?" Haymitch raised an eyebrow.

She fisted her hands in her lap. "Look at what happened the last time I did something, Haymitch. Did you see what Twelve looks like? Everyone's dead."

"Not your fault, sweetheart. Everything that happened down there is on the shoulders of one person, and one person only. Snow."

"Yes, but if I'd-"

He shifted in his seat, turned to face her squarely. "If you'd never been reaped, if I'd never been reaped, if the damn war had never happened and the time before the Dark Days never existed. It's all a bunch of what-ifs, and I'm not going to sit here and debate them with you. Neither of us have time for that." He picked up something off the floor, held it out to her. "Watch this."

It was the same tablet he'd had previously, when he'd shown her the video of the meeting Coin and Plutarch had conducted not long after her arrival.

"Showing me secrets again?" She muttered.

"Nope, this one I was told to show you."

Katniss folded her arms across her chest. "I can't help them."

"You might think you can't. But I know you will." He pressed the button on the screen, and the Capitol seal appeared.

"What is this?" she hissed.

"Something you need to see," he reiterated.

* * *

_The room was lavishly furnished, the walls papered in a pattern of gold and pale green. The fire in the grate was lit, and crackled with life, and the carpet was thick and plush under their feet. The two chairs - high-backed and elegant, a remnant of another time - faced one another, as though placed for a comfortable conversation between two friends on a cool evening._

_The man with violet hair wore a simple black suit, one leg crossed over the other demurely. His voice was smooth, his delivery perfect._

_"Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen of Panem, I'm Caesar Flickerman, and I have a special guest for you. We've all been shocked by the recent events that rocked the 75th Hunger Games, and the ensuing effects it's had on our country. Victors are dead. Victors have escaped. Victors, it appears...are rebels, turning their back on the very people who gave them the life that they live now. People who swore fealty to our leader, who had worked on the very Games that you see every year, have done the unthinkable, and have gone rogue." Caesar Flickerman stared down the barrel of the camera seriously. "But we've been lucky enough to have someone on the inside, a 'spy' so to speak, someone who knows these rebels secrets, and has shared them with us. Someone who has been close to those responsible, has intimately been involved with them. Ladies and Gentlemen...I bring you Official Capitol Photographer, Peeta Mellark."_

* * *

Katniss' gaze swung up to Haymitch's, her eyes already wide and batting madly while she tried to keep back tears. "He's alive."

He nodded.

* * *

_"Mr Mellark, it's an honour to have you here with me."_

_Peeta was dressed all in white, his hair swept back in a perfect blond swoop. His blue eyes were clear, his skin perfect and unblemished. His smile was engaging._

_"It's an honour, Caesar. It's good to see you again."_

_Caesar placed the pointer fingers of both hands under his chin, as though he was thinking carefully. "Ahhh, yes of course, the last time we spoke, we were in Twelve, with Miss Everdeen."_

_Peeta nodded. "That's right."_

_Caesar took a deep breath. "I suppose there's no point beating around the bush is there, Mr Mellark. We both know why we're here."_

_"Call me Peeta, please. And no, there isn't," Peeta said, and Caesar smiled, two rows of blindingly white perfect teeth._

_"Yes of course, Peeta. Now, lets talk about what really needs to be discussed here. The rebellion."_

_"Yes," Peeta nodded. "The rebellion."_

_"Are you shocked by the turn of events that occurred following the infiltration of the Arena?"_

_"Of course, just like anyone else."_

_"But you worked with people who are involved, didn't you?"_

_"Yes, I did. For many years."_

_"And one of those people involved is Katniss Everdeen, isn't it?"_

_Peeta pressed his lips together firmly before answering. "Katniss is not a part of the rebellion. But she is a part of their plans."_

_Caesar's brow furrowed. "But is that not the same thing?"_

_Peeta shook his head, his fingers clutching the arms of the chair tightly. "No. Katniss wasn't involved in the making of any plans, wasn't privy to them. But they want her involved."_

_"As a spokesperson?"_

_"In a way, yes."_

_"But...the rumours are that she's dead. She hasn't been seen or heard from since her extraction from the Arena. Surely if the rebels wanted to use her, we would have heard by now."_

_Peeta swallowed heavily. "Perhaps. I don't know."_

_Caesar's voice gentled. "You miss her, don't you, Peeta?"_

_Peeta nodded, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Yes. She was...she was - is - everything to me."_

_"And it hurts to think that she may be dead?"_

_"Yes." There was silence as Peeta glanced down into his lap, before he finally looked back up again, smiling slightly. "I'm sorry Caesar. Please continue."_

_Caesar uncrossed his leg, leant towards Peeta slightly. "Thank you Peeta. And for what it's worth, I'm terribly sorry for how you are feeling. But - do you mind if I ask you about the rebellion again?"_

_Peeta nodded. "Not at all."_

_"Even without Katniss Everdeen, there are still rebels out there, aren't there?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Who want to overthrow the Capitol?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And if you could say anything to them, what would you say?"_

_This time, Peeta shifted his gaze so that he was staring down the barrel of the camera. "I'd tell them to stop. That there's no way they can win. That bloodshed is not worth it when it's a futile fight. More lives are not worth it. End this, before it goes down a path we cannot come back from."_

* * *

"How can he say that?" Katniss' fingers drifted across the screen of the tablet, and the frozen image of Peeta as he finished imploring for an end to the war before it started. "They're calling him a spy?"

"Maybe he made a deal." This time, it was Gale who replied, and she looked up to see him standing in front of her and Haymitch. "And they're forcing him to say it. Maybe he agreed to let them portray him as their spy to gain sympathy in the Capitol."

"But why? How?"

"He could be trying to protect you. Maybe he's promised them that if he says what they want him to, lets them say what they want to about him, they won't hurt you."

"Then he's stupid." Katniss wiped at her nose with the arm of her shirt.

"He's not finished," Haymitch said. "There's another one."

Katniss frowned. "Another one? But how...when...how long have you all known about these?"

Haymitch clenched his jaw so tightly she thought it would crack. "Coin's men intercepted this first one a week ago from a Capitol feed. I was told about it late last night, when the second one was aired. Hawthorne here is only hearing about it now too."

"But..." Katniss trailed off. "Capitol announcements are aired on the screens in Thirteen. How didn't any of us see this?"

"There's always a delay in the Capitol feeds." Boggs' voice broke into the conversation as he moved from the cockpit to the flight deck. "President Coin was able to prevent both of them from going to air in the general quarters."

"But why? People need to know this, need to see this. All it does is confirm that the Capitol is as bad as it says it is."

Boggs - his posture already ramrod straight - clasped his hands behind his back. "The people from District Twelve have knowledge of Peeta; they know of his interaction with you, of his relationship with you. Many in other Districts also do too, due to the coverage of the Victory Tour, and other news stories from the Capitol. But that type of footage isn't shown here, and to the citizens in Thirteen, he means nothing; he would just look like a Capitol mouthpiece, and they would likely believe him a spy in the rebel camp. It serves no purpose for the general population here to see it. They  _know_  the Capitol is bad, Katniss - 75 years of living underground reminds them of that daily."

"Then why weren't  _we_  shown at least?" Katniss demanded angrily. "I've spent the last three weeks thinking Peeta was... _dead_ , and he wasn't. He's been alive."

"We weren't sure whether it would be a one-off," Boggs explained, "But with yesterdays interview, it appears that it isn't. Hence the decision to show you."

"Then where's the second one? I want to see it."

Haymitch lifted the tablet from her lap, pressed a variety of buttons on it until a new window popped open. He turned to her before pressing play. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, and at first she was confused.

And then she wasn't.

* * *

_It was still the same room - the same chairs, the same fire, the same simple black suit on Caesar that did nothing but highlight the bright hair and eyes. But for Peeta - Peeta was different._

_The suit was grey this time, the colour of ash, though his hair was still styled the same. He looked tired, as though he hadn't slept in a week, with dark coloured bruises under his eyes. His hands twisted in his lap, the fingers laced together tightly to the point that the knuckles were almost translucent, and a muscle in his jaw twitched manically._

_But it was his eyes that startled her the most. They were blank, empty. Lifeless. None of the spark or flirtation or feeling that she was so used to was visible._

_She didn't even listen to Caesar's introduction this time, just stared at Peeta and waited for him to speak._

_"No, that's right, Caesar. I wasn't aware of Thirteen's existence."_

_It didn't sound like him, not vivacious, or even friendly. It was flat. Emotionless. And there were cracks just under the surface._

_"How many do you think knew? How many knew that Thirteen was involved in this plan?"_

_"I couldn't say."_

_"Do you believe Katniss did?"_

_A look of confusion crossed his face before it cleared again. "No, Katniss didn't know anything about the plan."_

_Caesar nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, Peeta. Can you tell me how long this plan has been underway?"_

_"The rebels misguided need to overthrow the Capitol has been around for a very long time, Caesar, much longer than I've been alive. But this particular plan was instigated shortly after the completion of the 74th Hunger Games."_

_"And what made it begin?"_

_"I was told that they'd been waiting for a spark, and that they'd found it."_

_"From Katniss Everdeen."_

_"Y-yes. From Katniss Everdeen."_

_Peeta's voice trailed off, until the last part of her name was all but a whisper._

* * *

Katniss pressed the stop button forcefully, threw the tablet back at Haymitch where he juggled it awkwardly before gripping it tightly.

"I don't want to see any more. I can't. They're hurting him."

"You can't know that for sure. He could just be-"

Katniss glared up at Gale, cutting him off. "No, Gale, I know he's hurting. You can see it in his eyes, in his voice. They're doing something - what, I don't know, but they are." This time she glanced at Haymitch, and if she could see what he could, she would have known there was a fire in her eyes that had been missing since the moment she'd been dragged out of the Arena. "I'll be their damned Mockingjay. But they have to promise to get me Peeta."

Haymitch grinned. "There's my girl."

* * *

"No. Absolutely not."

Coin's face was impassive, her tone non-negotiable.

"Yes. Or you don't have a Mockingjay."

"I do not negotiate, Miss Everdeen. I said no, I mean no. You are a guest in my home, and after viewing those interviews, Peeta Mellark is a traitor to the cause. When the war is over, if he survives, he will be charged, and will have a fair trial."

Katniss threw her hands up wildly towards the screen, where a frozen image of Peeta was showing. "If he survives? Can't you see he's being coerced? That he's being forced to say what's being said?"

"I see a man who is being portrayed - rightly or wrongly - as a spy within the rebel forces."

"He's not!" This time Katniss slapped her hand down on the table, making Plutarch - seated beside President Coin - jump. "They're doing something to him, and he's  _not him_. I want him back, and alive, and completely pardoned for anything he's done or said since being captured. You know as well as I do, as well as Plutarch does, that he is not a spy for the Capitol."

She'd asked Boggs to request a meeting with Coin immediately upon her return from Twelve, only to be told the President would be unavailable until the following morning. So she'd gone back to Compartment 307, had given her mother the plant book and the portrait and witnessed the joyful reunion between Prim and Buttercup, before slinking away to a forgotten stationery cupboard 5 levels down.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17 years old and I survived two Hunger Games. District Twelve is gone, and I now live in Thirteen. It feels airless and claustrophobic, like I'll never breathe properly again._

_But Peeta is alive. He's alive._

_He's alive._

She'd thought about Snow, about the rose. She'd thought about Peeta and how much she missed him, about how much she needed him right now. She'd replayed in her mind his interviews with Caesar, thought about the words he'd said and how the change in him had been so obvious to her, from one video to the next. And Katniss had soon realised that saving Peeta wouldn't be enough. Because even if they did save him, what he'd said in those interviews were damning for him. Traitorous.

Something told her Coin wasn't kind to traitors.

Later she'd tossed and turned for hours in her bed, until Prim had finally climbed from the bed she shared with Alice to Katniss', begged her to tell her what was wrong. And as Katniss had haltingly told Prim about what she'd seen, and what Peeta had said, Prim's advice had been simple.

_"You don't understand how important you are to them, Katniss. You could ask for anything, and they would agree to it. Ask for clemency for Peeta - they'll give it to him, because you want it."_

She'd told herself they wouldn't agree, that they wouldn't say yes. But she'd decided to ask anyway.

She needed to. For Peeta.

"Madame President, if I could be so bold as to speak?" Plutarch piped up.

If Coin wanted to sigh, she kept it contained. "Yes, Mr Heavensbee?"

"I think in times like this, we can make exceptions, we can...overlook some matters, so that we can move forward with our plans. With Katniss as the Mockingjay, we can continue with our aim to instil inspiration in the Districts to rise up against the Capitol. Without her, we have nothing. This matter is something…so small. Insignificant in the grand scheme of things. We should do as she asks."

"My people won't be happy."

"Your people have no idea what he said - they haven't seen these videos. To them, he will be nothing but Katniss' boyfriend."

"And you don't think that's worse?" It was the first time Katniss had heard a hint of derision in the leaders voice. "Saving a  _boyfriend_?"

"Saving someone important to the cause," Katniss snapped, causing both Plutarch and Coin to face her. "Peeta has done more for this rebellion than people will ever know, and he deserves to be rescued. As do Johanna Mason and Annie Cresta, if they are being held captive."

Coin raised an eyebrow. "More demands?"

"It's only fair," Katniss returned. "They've done nothing wrong. They get rescued and pardoned just like Peeta."

She watched as Coin took a deep breath, as she straightened her back. It was obvious that during her presidency, the woman had mastered the art of pregnant pauses. "And do you have any other demands, Miss Everdeen?"

Katniss inhaled sharply. She didn't want to push her luck, but…

"I get to hunt above ground and Prim gets to keep her cat."

Coin blinked, turned her head to glare at Plutarch. "Fine," she finally replied, her voice short and sharp.

Plutarch smiled and stood, his arms stretched out wide. "This is wonderful! Mockingjay, it's time to get started. We have some work we need to do."

* * *

_One Week Later_

"Peeta."

"Peeta."

"Peeta."

The third time, he stirred, his head lifting slowly from the cold ground beneath his cheek. His head ached, his throat was dry.

He wasn't sure where he was.

"Who-who's there?"

"It's Johanna."

He clenched his hands into fists, pressed them to his eyes, rubbing at them until they stung. "Of course it is. Sorry."

They didn't say anything for a few moments, and there was nothing but the sound of whimpering down the hall and the faint shuffling of feet. "What did they do to you today?" he finally asked.

"Same." The reply was sullen, but that was to be expected. "Never changes."

"How's your head?"

"It itches. I wish they'd shave it again."

"But that means-"

"I know what it means, Mellark. I'm not stupid."

Peeta pulled himself into a sitting position, rested against the wall, willing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He could vaguely see the outline of her across the corridor, faint and huddled in the corner of her cell. "I don't know what they did to me today."

"Yeah?"

"They knocked me out again." All he could remember was the helmet, the round circles taped to his forehead, the needle being inserted into the skin of his forearm. "I was awake, and then I was out, and then I was awake again."

"And you can't remember anything about it?"

"No."

"Are you feeling anything?"

Peeta looked down at his hands, pressed his fingertips together.

"Nothing."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading, and for your kudos and comments.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I love to talk about Everlark and all things THG :)


	23. Chapter 23

_He could no longer remember the original session, the one when they'd slid a needle into the unmarked skin on the underside of his elbow for the very first time, covered it with tape that pinched at his flesh. At the time, he'd promised himself he'd never forget it, that he'd keep that memory with him forever as a reminder of what they'd done to him. But in the last week he'd tried, a dozen times or more, to bring that first memory back; nothing he'd done had worked._

_Now, that first day felt like so long ago now - whether it was weeks, months, years, he didn't know. All he knew anymore was an endless session of tortures he could no longer really separate. He couldn't decipher one from the other._

_They were all the same._

_He probed at the delicate skin on his arm, his fingertips at first pressing gently, then harder, until the realisation hit him that it didn't hurt, not like it used to. The small reddish-purple pinpricks had amassed so much that what had once been two, or five, or ten individual little dots was now just one big bruise that he was afraid would never go away._

" _Mellark, you awake?" The voice broke through his thoughts, and carried across the otherwise silent room - a room that was cell after cell of white walls and silver bars that thrummed with electricity to keep each of them locked away. He realised her voice wasn't as strong as it used to be; it cracked every time she said a 'c' or a 'k', and he wondered vaguely if his voice ever did the same, and he just didn't notice it._

_He didn't answer immediately, instead continued to stare at his arm until his vision blurred and he was forced to look away. "Yeah. I'm here."_

" _Annie's quiet."_

_Peeta sighed, dropped his head back until it rapped against the reinforced wall. "I know."_

" _She's been quiet all day."_

" _Yeah."_

" _Is she there?"_

_He shrugged, before he remembered she couldn't see him where he was curled in the back corner. "I don't know."_

" _But you can see down the corridor better than I can. Tell me."_

" _I don't want to look."_

_He could hear Johanna thump her hand against the wall in anger. "Why the fuck not, Mellark?"_

_He swallowed heavily, felt his jaw clench, and spat the words out as though they hurt to say. "Because she might be dead, and I don't want to see that."_

_Peeta waited for Johanna to respond, to snap at him to stop being a wimp, or to grow a pair of balls already and just look. But she didn't, and he didn't know if that was worse._

_Because being called a wimp didn't make him feel as bad as what thinking of Johanna Mason being broken did._

* * *

"Mr Mellark, are they treating you well in the Tribute Centre?"

Peeta shook his head, bringing himself back to the present and out of the conversation he'd had with Johanna earlier that week. Annie had been fine - or as fine as she could be - and not ten minutes after his refusal to look down the corridor, they'd heard her begin to whimper in her sleep. But by then, more damage had already been done to both of them. Peeta had been a little more scared; Johanna had been a little more defeated.

That day's Capitol mission had been accomplished, he'd assumed.

He looked across the table with glazed eyes, raised his eyebrow in mimicry of the white haired man opposite him. "Of course they are, President Snow. Can't you tell?"

It wasn't the first time he'd had an audience with the President since he'd been captured and locked away in the depths of the old Tribute headquarters. It had happened on a number of occasions now; sometimes for only minutes, sometimes long gruelling hours of the President grilling him, questioning him, taunting him. Sometimes Snow would do nothing but simply sit and stare at him, while Peeta rubbed his wrists raw against the cuffs that kept him restrained in the chair. Once, after the initial interview he'd completed with Caesar at the Mansion, Peeta had been led to the Presidents' study, where a platter of food had awaited him. He'd eaten everything eagerly, shovelling food in his mouth with little regard to manners or utensils, wondering if they were going to let him go, if they now thought he was of no use to them. Surely if they were feeding him it was a good thing, he'd decided as he'd gnawed on a groosling leg.

5 minutes later, he'd realised a little too late that the drink he'd been sipping from had been the kind of purple liquid he didn't want to drink. Not when, for the first time in weeks, he'd finally had a belly full of food.

He'd returned to his cell hungrier than when he'd left it.

"Now, now, there's no need to be like that," Snow said with a casual flick of his wrist, as if pushing aside Peeta's comments with little regard. "Things could be quite a bit worse you know."

"Really." His response was flat, emotionless, and he wasn't in the mood to partake in the games the President was so fond of playing. Peeta was tired; he'd just endured another session that had, to him, resulted in nothing more than hours of blanked out time. Right now he simply wanted to close his eyes and sleep, to pretend that a gentle hand was threading through his hair as he drifted off into dreams.

But sleep felt like a relief that was being dangled just out of his grasp.

Snow steepled his fingers together, rested his elbows on the table. "Well, your family could be here, I suppose."

Peeta shrugged. "They practically disowned me already."

"Your rebel comrades?"

"They left me here to die."

Snow laughed, a brittle sound that rattled in his ribcage as it fought its way free. "Did we wake up in a bad mood today? Are you bitter enough to tell me everything you know?"

Peeta's lips firmed together, and he dropped his gaze to the whitewashed floor. "You know everything, I'm sure. Isn't that the point of what they're doing every time they tie me up and shut me down?"

"Oh dear boy, you really do have no idea, do you?"

Peeta's hands twitched against his restraints as he lifted his head to look at Snow. "I've told you a million times that I don't know anything about Thirteen."

The President leant back in his seat, crossed one leg over the other. "Oh, of that I have no doubt. They had no reason to tell their messenger boy any more than the bare necessities, I suppose."

"I wasn't their messenger boy." Peeta bit the words out. He  _knew_  he'd been more than that - he'd been integral to the cause, had played a huge role in the rebellion over the years. He'd been directly involved in the liberation of Victors from the Arena.

He  _wasn't_  just their messenger boy.

"Well I-" Snow cut himself off abruptly as the door to the room flew open, and a man hurried in, bending at the waist to whisper in the President's ear. Peeta watched as his eyes visibly froze over, the playfulness that had been apparent as he spoke to Peeta all but gone. "Get him back to his cell," he snapped the moment the man straightened, gestured towards Peeta. " _Now_."

Without another word, Peeta was dragged out of the room, back down the maze of corridors to his cell. Johanna stared at him while he was thrown in, with sunken eyes and a snarling lip that was bloody.

He curled up on the floor, closed his eyes, and willed himself to escape into the sleep he craved. Because even if he fell into nightmares, even if he fell into memories he didn't want to remember, he was certain they'd be better than reality.

The lights shut off and plunged them into darkness not five minutes later.

* * *

" _I miss Finnick."_

" _I know you do, Annie."_

" _I wish he was here."_

" _Ugh, shut up, no you don't."_

" _Yes I do. Then he'd be with me."_

" _And then they'd be doing to him whatever they're doing to us. Do you want_ _that_ _? Because if you do, you're more of an idiot than I thought."_

" _Don't call Annie an idiot, Jo."_

" _I'll do what I want."_

" _No you won't."_

" _Or what? Huh? HUH? Or you'll tie me up and hold me under water until it feels like my lungs are going to burst and the blood vessels in my eyes are breaking to the point I can barely see? Because too late, asshole. Pick a number, get in line. I'll say whatever the hell I want to."_

_Their conversations were rarely different when they were all in their cells in the middle of the night. Annie would talk about how she missed Finnick, and Peeta would try to be understanding, even though his own heart ached. Then Johanna would pipe up with something snarky, and in the end, they'd argue and fight until someone said something they all immediately regretted._

_Tonight, apparently, it was Johanna._

_He rested his head against the hard surface of the wall, allowed it to cool the skin that was still flushed from the makeup they'd caked on his face to try and disguise the hollows of his cheeks, hide the bruises that had formed under his eyes. A third interview with Caesar; a third round of questions and the confusing cloud in his head as he gave answers he wasn't even sure he knew the meaning of._

_He was so tired._

_"Just...there's no point in us fighting, Jo. Let Annie dream of Finnick being with her."_

_Peeta heard her laugh mirthlessly in reply. "Then who do I get to dream of, huh? Who do I get to pretend is keeping me warm at night? There's no one left that I love."_

_He sighed and closed his eyes. "Then dream of the person you might love one day," he told her._

_"And what about you? You going to think of the brainless mess that got you here?"_

_His throat constricted, his heart thudded heavily in his chest. "_ _I_   _got myself here Jo," he corrected, but didn't say anything more. It hurt too much to do so._

* * *

The voices - whispered and muffled through their white and black masks, but still loud in a room that was silent - broke through the night, and tore Peeta from sleep. He'd gotten used to them over time, the way the Peacekeepers always talked about useless, trivial things as they did their nightly rounds - he'd heard about Capitol soap operas he'd forgotten even existed, about clandestine affairs, about a high ranking official who was now in deep debt over a gambling habit. And so Peeta had learned to tune out their words if he was awake when they arrived, not caring the slightest about what was happening on the social pages of a place he wanted to bring down.

But while their conversation tonight first seemed to be as mundane as usual, the next comment pierced through his muddled brain, making him feel more alert than weeks. It took everything inside of him not to move a muscle as he listened intently.

"Hang on, what did you say?"

"I  _said_ , I heard the Hydro Dam in Five blew itself to smithereens about 2 hours ago."

_What?_

"You're such a liar, Marcus. I don't believe you."

"Believe me - I heard about it from Bodini, and he was in security control when it occurred. Why do you think the power is out  _everywhere_ , you idiot."

A whistle, low and soft, echoed through the room. "I figured it was just a surge out at the dam - it happens occasionally. But wow...You think it's the Rebels?"

"Shhhhh!" There was a thwack, like a hand slapping across thick padding. "They might be asleep, but we still can't risk making assumptions when we're around them."

"But what else could it be? The Capitol outlaws all explosives outside of the Arena for decades, and now suddenly the Arena itself gets blown up, followed by a Dam just over a month later? Especially after what went down in Eight the other day? It has to be the rebels - they're coming, and we need to be prepared to fight."

_A month. They were saying he'd been here for little more than a month. But was that even right? Hadn't he just gotten here yesterday? Or was it last year?_

"It's nothing to worry about. Even if it  _is_  them, they're just rebels with limited resources. They'll never make it to the Capitol."

"Yeah, well I still think..."

The voices trailed off as they moved away, and Peeta slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. The last vestiges of light from the Peacekeepers torch slid around the corner, plunging the cells back into complete darkness, and he rolled over onto his back, trying to block out the sounds of Johanna's snoring and Annie's mewls as he repeated in his mind the muffled conversation.

_Had the Dam really blown up in Five? Was that why Snow had demanded him be returned to his cell so abruptly earlier? Because of that?_

He remembered enough from his schooling - and from his job on the Victory Tours - to know about each District's function. To know what they were responsible for, in terms of what they delivered to the Capitol. The Peacekeepers were right. Five meant power. And power meant electricity.

And without electricity...

He pulled himself to his hands and knees, crawled forward until he was kneeling in front of the electrified bars. He waited for his eyes to adjust properly to the night, until the slim cylinders took shape before him, and with a deep breath, hesitantly reached a hand towards them. If he was wrong, he'd pay for it, in pain now and in torture tomorrow. But if he was right, then it changed everything.

His fingers closed around the smooth metal, one by one until he was clutching it tightly, and it was nothing but cold steel.

Peeta smiled, and it was so wide, it almost cracked his cheeks. It had to be true.

_They were coming._

* * *

Her stomach gurgled nervously as the hovercraft flew through the night, nothing but the moon and the night-flight instruments guiding their way. Gale was to her left, Boggs to her right, three other soldiers from Thirteen across from them.

They were finally on their way to the Capitol.

In the week since Katniss had agreed to become the Mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion, President Coin and Plutarch had kept her busy. She'd filmed promotional videos - or 'propos' as Plutarch liked to call them with exaggerated pompousness - and sat in on meetings with Thirteen's council, where it felt like they did nothing but talk in circles. She'd traveled to Eight with a 4 person production crew - Messala, Castor, Pollux and Cressida, the woman with the tattooed head - to show Panem that she was alive, that she was on their side and that she was fighting with the rebels. She'd met with survivors from the District, and then had watched, tears streaming down her face, as Capitol hovercrafts had come out of nowhere to level the makeshift hospital the survivors had been housed in, decimating the population of Eight in an instant.

She'd returned to Twelve with Gale and the crew, had filmed another propo there, and had watched as Gale recounted the firebombing of the District. She'd watched as the enormity of what had happened sunk in to the crew, as they'd witnessed the resulting devastation and the burned bodies first hand.

Something in their sincere reactions had told her that the four of them were likely invested in the Rebellion for reasons just as important as her own.

She'd completed some basic combat training with Thirteen's soldiers  _("For your propos to appear more authentic, nothing more," Coin had told her bluntly)_ , and had spent countless hours sitting with Finnick in silence as they both thought of their loved one in the Capitol. She'd eaten dinner with Prim and her Mom every night, in an attempt to have some semblance of normalcy outside of being a mouthpiece for the cause. And on occasion she'd ventured above ground with Gale, her fathers jacket surrounding her body and her bow clutched in her hand.

 _Her bow_.

Gale had looked as genuinely heartbroken as she had when he'd broken the news to her on the day she'd agreed to be the Mockingjay, that her bow and arrows - gifts from her father - had been destroyed in the firebombs. But he'd promised her that she wouldn't be without a bow for long. And he'd been right.

He'd led her down two levels below the training rooms of Thirteen, opened a door into what looked like a lab that hadn't been cleaned in over a decade. And then Beetee had rolled around the corner, in a wheelchair he certainly hadn't had in the Arena. Katniss had been stunned into silence for a good ten minutes, having already fully accepted that he'd died, that he hadn't made it. And then he'd smiled gently, patted her on the arm, and had said it was good to see her again, that he'd been working on some projects just for her.

No explanations as to where he'd been, why no one had told her he'd survived, or why he was in the chair, and at that moment, it hadn't felt right to bring it up. Maybe she'd ask him one day what had happened. But that day hadn't been it.

He'd made her a bow, and a set of arrows far more sophisticated than even the Arena had had. Some were normal arrows, others were set to explode upon impact, others were incendiary, ready to take their time before they destroyed whatever it was she hit with it.

Gale had a crossbow, Finnick a trident. And though Beetee had told her that all their weapons were purely for show, that they were for nothing more than to be used as props in Plutarch's propos, he'd winked, and whispered that they were also very, very real.

And right now, she desperately wished it was her bow in her hand.

Instead, she held some high powered laser gun on her lap, her eyes occasionally flicking down to the safety switch just to make sure it was on. Because the last thing she needed right now was to accidentally shoot a stream of fire around the hovercraft. Not when she was this close to Peeta.

* * *

" _Katniss?"_

_His voice was quiet, hesitant, nervous. It wasn't the Finnick she'd come to know in the Arena, but more the Finnick she'd come to recognise in Thirteen. A Finnick ravaged by losing the woman he loved, a Finnick who spent his days with his hands twisted around a knotted rope, his fingers calloused as he fought with the demons inside him._

_She twisted her head around so she was looking down towards the opening in the horizontal air shaft she was currently hiding in. All she could see of him was his silhouette, highlighted by the grey light of Thirteen's corridors behind him._

_She sighed. "I'm here."_

" _Can I...can I come in?"_

" _You don't need to ask, Finnick. There's no door, no lock."_

_Katniss waited, listened to his shuffled movements as he crawled his way down the small passage before slumping onto the cold floor beside her. "I wanted to talk to you."_

" _About?"_

_He cleared his throat, drawing his hands in front of him so she could see the ever-present rope clutched in between his fingers. "Annie. Peeta."_

_She closed her eyes, felt her heart drop into her stomach. "I can't."_

" _I have to," he whispered. "Ever since you first told me about those interviews Peeta did with Caesar, I keep wondering what they've done to Annie."_

" _They won't have killed her," Katniss muttered, echoing words Haymitch had said to her earlier that day, when she'd broken down in his arms and questioned him as to whether he thought they were all dead. She still didn't know if she entirely believed him._

" _I know they won't have killed her," he said flatly. "They didn't take her because she knew things, Katniss. Because she didn't."_

_Katniss opened her eyes, looked at Finnick in confusion. "You mean Annie didn't know about the Rebellion?"_

_She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "The less she knew, the safer she was," he murmured. "Much in the same way Peeta and Haymitch didn't tell you everything. The less_ _you_   _knew, the safer you were - and your safety was always their number one priority."_

" _Then why would they take her?" But she didn't really have to ask. She knew already._

" _They took her to torture me." His words were so weighty she knew they would be a burden to him for the rest of his life. "So no, she won't be dead, not while I'm alive. But the thought is still there. It sits in the back of my mind, taunting me, haunting me - 'what if?'. And I wake up every morning, wondering if her being gone is all just a nightmare, but it's not. It's real. It's so damn real. And I feel like just going back to sleep and never waking up again."_

_She shifted her body so that she was facing him, roamed her eyes over his slumped shoulders and busy hands before speaking. "Then how do you get up each day? How do you do it?" They were questions she'd asked herself repeatedly since they'd arrived in Thirteen, and even the knowledge that Peeta was alive hadn't made them any easier to answer. She still struggled every day, still struggled with the knowledge that whatever was happening to Peeta was above and beyond her control._

" _I have to," Finnick said simply, as if it was the only answer he needed to give. "_ _It takes ten times as long to put yourself together as it does to fall apart. And for Annie's sake, I need to stay in one piece. So I do."_

_The words struck deep, as though she felt a physical knock from them. If his intention had been to make her rethink exactly what she'd been doing day in and day out, then he'd succeeded. Because Finnick was right. She'd done nothing but fall apart for the last month, and even though she'd stood up to Coin and demanded Peeta's retrieval, even though she'd stood in front of their cameras and spouted words of rebellion and crushing the Capitol, every night she still dampened her pillow with tears, every day she still ran and hid away from everything and everyone._

_And while Peeta was out there, while he was still alive, she needed to stay together. She was no good to him in broken, shattered shards._

_The sudden movement of a flashlight through the darkness made them both look up, startled, to see Haymitch appear at the end of the duct. "Hey, you kids want to get out of there?"_

_Katniss set her jaw stubbornly, more out of habit than necessity. "Not really. Why?"_

_Even from this far away she could see Haymitch roll his eyes. "Why? Dam in Five got blown to shit, and power will be out in the Capitol before we know it. You know what that means?"_

_Finnick inhaled sharply, his body straightening, the rope dropping to his lap. "No security. No electromagnet fencing. No tracking equipment. No light. No locks. No..."_

_Katniss' eyes widened as she listened to Finnick rattle off all the results of the loss of power. But only one thing meant anything to her, and she butted in without thought._

" _We can rescue them."_

_Haymitch grinned. "You got it, sweetheart. Now get outta there."_

* * *

It had been madness after Haymitch had retrieved her and Finnick from the air shaft. They'd gone directly to the Conference Room, where Boggs had already been outlining a plan to Coin, Plutarch, Beetee and a small group of soldiers. Gale was one of them, and his eyes had been intent and focused on Boggs; he'd barely looked at her when she'd walked in. They'd fought angrily the day before, bitter words where he'd questioned Peeta's loyalty to the cause after seeing Peeta's third and latest interview with Caesar. Katniss remembered the conversation clearly - him telling her Peeta no longer cared about any of them, that he was just trying to save his own skin; she reminding him, with words laced with disdain, of Peeta willingly bringing Gale into the rebellion when he didn't even have to.

She'd left him standing - practically thrumming with frustration - in the middle of the training room, and had avoided him for the rest of the day.

The rescue plan Boggs outlined had been short and simple, with the power outage overcoming their biggest obstacle of remaining undetected. It had been three steps that he'd made sound easy - they were going to take a hovercraft, overtake the Tribute Centre, retrieve the prisoners. When Katniss had asked how they even knew where Peeta was, Beetee had explained that with primary power down, the Capitol had had to resort to using old, outdated - and very traceable - communication lines. Communication lines he'd studied when he'd first gone to the Capitol after winning his Games.

Communication lines he'd easily tapped into using the facilities in Thirteen.

Katniss had fought - bitterly, angrily - when Coin had first told her that she couldn't go, that she had to stay behind for her own safety. And it had only been Boggs' own intervention, suggesting that a familiar face to those being rescued could help, that had enabled her to be a part of the rescue mission.

Now, she slid her gaze to her side and studied the serious, staid man beside her, and knew that she'd be forever grateful to him for standing up for her. For all the lack of distrust Katniss had of Coin - and since they'd first met, she'd gathered plenty - her trust in Boggs continued to grow in leaps and bounds.

"You okay, Katniss?" They were the first words Gale had uttered to her in days, and she half turned to look at him, a scowl on her face.

"I'm fine," she said shortly. "I just want to get this over with. Unlike you, I want all  _three_  of them back in Thirteen with us."

"I want them all back in Thirteen too,  _including_  Peeta," Gale said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Even if you don't believe me."

She shrugged. "You're right, I don't believe you."

He looked at her imploringly. "I just want you to be happy, Catnip."

"And I don't want you questioning Peeta's loyalty," she snapped.

"I said the wrong thing yesterday, I know. I'm sorry," he said simply. "If you believe in him, so do I."

Katniss scoffed. "That's a hell of a change in tune."

"I figured there was no point in us fighting each other when we have a real enemy to fight," Gale retorted, then softened his voice. "You mean more to me than some stupid argument, okay?"

She studied his face, one that for so long had been as familiar to her as her own. He was right, she knew he was - they had something much bigger to worry about than their differences with each other. Right now, the only thing that mattered was saving Peeta and Johanna and Annie, and he was there by her side to do so. "Okay," she finally acquiesced, and he smiled at her, reached over to tug lightly on the end of her braid.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17 years old and I survived two Hunger Games. District Twelve is gone, and I now live in Thirteen. I'm on my way to save Peeta, who's being held prisoner in the Capitol._

_We're going to save Peeta._

_We're going to bring him home._

* * *

The rescue itself was a blur - landing on the roof of the Tribute Centre, rappelling down from the domed glass ceiling to the foyer below, the smoke bombs they dropped to knock the Peacekeepers out. Trying to remember formation codes and instructions as they made their way into the depths of the building, lower than the Tribute training floor, into sub-levels she'd never known had existed.

There were murmurs of power systems coming back into play, worried concerns that they'd get locked in, that none of them would get out, and that they'd fail in their mission. They'd stood in silence, waiting to hear the rumble of Peacekeeper feet, or the telltale buzz of electricity restarting. And then there'd been relief in the confirmation, ten minutes later, that it had been a false alarm, and that they were good to proceed.

Night-vision goggles helped them navigate through the corridors, and in the end, the sound of whimpers and cries led them to their destination.

Johanna, head shaven, eyes red-rimmed and filled with broken blood vessels. Annie, in a flimsy nightgown that was little more than a sheet, and her hair a matted mess.

And then Peeta, his body covered in bruises and his eyes wild as they led him from his cell. And as Katniss pushed her way through, as she moved towards him to gather him in her arms, he slumped in them, nothing but a whispered ' _thank you'_  echoing through an otherwise silent room, before he passed out.

* * *

Katniss felt the hand, soft and gentle, rest between her shoulder blades, and her eyes flickered open slowly, taking in the dim light of the medical ward. She lifted her head from the scratchy sheet in time to see Finnick lower himself into the chair beside her, and for the first time in weeks, his face was line and worry free, his eyes shining brightly. The knotted rope she'd seen him carry around like a security blanket wasn't in his hands, and part of her wondered if he'd abandoned it altogether, or if he was keeping it hidden on him like a talisman.

"How's he doing?" He asked quietly.

She glanced back down to Peeta's prone form, then up at the machine he was hooked up to that continued to beep steadily. She sighed. "No change. The doctors told me he's mostly fine - he's malnourished, and has got some cuts and bruises, but they can't really do any proper tests until he wakes up. Though he still hasn't. He hasn't been awake since we rescued him."

"They told me that's a good thing," Finnick said gently. "That they all need it to help them recover. He'll wake up when he's ready." His arm slid from around her back to rest his hand over hers, where it clutched Peeta's tightly. "He'll appreciate you being here when he wakes up, you know that, right?"

Katniss nodded hesitantly. "I know. I just...Plutarch wants me to do a propo already, tell Panem that the rebellion is making headway in its fight against the Capitol by freeing Peeta and the Victors. But I don't...I don't want to leave Peeta yet."

"Then don't. They can wait," Finnick said simply, though Katniss knew it wasn't that easy. Especially not after she'd seen the look Coin had shot her upon their return. The one that clearly said  _Look what I've done for you - now what will you do for me?_  She shuddered at the memory, and they sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. "So everything went alright with the rescue?"

"Mostly," Katniss replied. "We didn't encounter any Peacekeepers, though there was a moment there when it looked like the security systems were going to come back on. Luckily, whatever was trying to reboot stopped, so we got out fine."

Finnick pressed his lips together, looked down at the floor. "Yeah, we did hear about that."

Something uncomfortable clawed at her gut, not at  _what_  he said, but  _how_  he said it. "Finnick? What's going on?"

He shook his head. "I'll tell you about it later," he told her, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Let's just focus on Peeta and Annie right now, okay?"

Katniss chewed on her bottom lip, knowing there was something he wasn't telling her, but she'd learned by now that Finnick would tell her whatever he needed to when he was good and ready. She cleared her throat, chose to change the subject. "How is Annie going?"

Finnick smiled then, broad and wide, and it was the most genuine smile she'd seen from him in weeks. "She's sleeping right now too, but she'll be okay. She's been through worse, you know? So she'll be fine. We're together again, and that's all we need." He squeezed her hand once more, before drawing his own away to run it nervously through his hair. "I'm going to ask her to marry me."

Katniss' jaw dropped. "What?"

"And as soon as possible, too," he continued hurriedly, as though the words had been pent up inside of him for too long now to be contained for a minute longer. "We had to pretend for far too long that we didn't love each other, and I don't want to wait. No more cameras, no more show, no more Games, no more... _favours_. Snow can't do anything to us anymore."

Katniss blinked rapidly, trying to wrap her mind around Finnick's words. Here they were, in the middle of the war, and he was talking about getting  _married_? "I-"

Suddenly, Peeta's fingers twitched under hers, and her gaze spun around from Finnick, pinning her eyes intently on Peeta's as they slowly fluttered open. It took a moment, but the long, blond eyelashes untangled themselves, the bright blue irises hidden beneath them slightly glazed. They shifted around the room as he appeared to gather his bearings, and Katniss was certain he'd be able to hear the thudding of her heart, it was so loud.

She watched as his eyes landed on Finnick, the look in them instantly brightening, a smile slowly creeping across Peeta's face. And then his gaze moved to her, and she felt her pulse leap.

His smile slowly faded, and he glanced down at their joined hands before looking back up at her. Peeta opened his mouth to speak, and she smiled encouragingly at him, tightening her grip on his hand, smoothing her fingers across his bony knuckles.

"I'm sorry," he finally croaked, his voice like sandpaper scraping over rocks, and she shook her head vehemently.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she told him forcefully, choking the words out around the lump in her throat. She heard Finnick murmur his agreement at her words. "Nothing at  _all_. You're safe, Peeta, that's all that matters."

"No, I...I think I do," Peeta muttered, then tugged his hand away from hers. He linked his hands together over his stomach, fidgeting nervously as his eyes flitted around the room erratically. He didn't speak again until his eyes, clouded with confusion, landed back on her.

And the minute the words left his mouth, it felt like her world fell apart.

* * *

" _Do you miss Katniss?" Annie whispered, a week after his first torture._

_He swallowed back a sudden onslaught of tears. "Of course."_

* * *

" _I bet she's thinking of you Peeta." Her voice was soft, almost musical, as though she was going to rise to her feet and sway on them like a dancer at any moment. He knew it was just the aftereffects of whatever they were dosing her with - after a month, he knew exactly how they all returned to their cells. Annie was always a million miles away. Johanna was angry, her vocabulary more colourful than when she'd left. And as for himself? He was always tired, exhausted to the point of passing out._

" _Who is?" He asked curiously._

" _Katniss! Just like I know Finnick will be thinking of me. They love us as much as we love them, so of course they will be."_

_Peeta rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling as his mind fought a silent battle with Annie's words._

_He had no idea who this 'Katniss' was._

_He'd never heard of her before in his life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I need to acknowledge specifically the use of Finnick's line to Katniss, as found in Mockingjay, in this chapter. It is possibly one of my favourites, and it was something I couldn't go past using.
> 
> There were many scenes from both the book and movie that I reference in this chapter, and I chose not to cover them in so much detail, simply because they have been done before, and I didn't want to rehash them too much. So while things like Katniss' propos, the bombing in Eight, and the Dam exploding all occur in this, I chose to keep them more as references than actual events to progress the story.
> 
> Thank you also for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I've struggled a bit with my WiPs over the last month, and this chapter felt like it was written with blood fought from a stone rather than typed on my Mac, lol.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading, for your kudos and comments. I appreciate them all so much.


	24. Chapter 24

The small room was quiet, and sterile. Grey, much like every other room he'd seen so far, with just a hint of disinfectant in the air, and another layer of scent he assumed was meant to disguise the remnants of cleaning products. In its blandness, it was nothing like the Capitol - not even the slightest bit like Twelve.

Thirteen was something else entirely.

He'd been here for two days now; two days since people in black masks had burst into his cell in the Capitol and half dragged, half carried his limp, malnourished body to a hovercraft. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness, voices and hazy images breaking through inconsistently until he'd finally succumbed to sleep, sleep without the worry of being woken up just to be tortured again.

Once they'd arrived in Thirteen, they'd immediately placed him in the medical ward, an IV in his arm pumping him full of nutrients that his body had been craving. And in the time since, he'd been in a routine of sleeping, eating, and being monitored. Small vials of blood drawn from beneath the skin, scans of his body, poking and prodding at his arms, legs and stomach - he'd gone through it all. But he was okay with it. After all, they were the good guys, the ones who'd saved him, the ones who were supporting the rebellion.

They were just helping him to recover.

He studied the medical staff around him; two nurses, one with pale blonde hair in a simple bun, her skin virtually the same shade, the other older, her hair black and liberally streaked with grey. A young man in a faded lab coat hunched over a small computer, while the doctor seated in the chair directly in front of Peeta looked to be fifty-ish - and exhausted, as though he hadn't slept in a week.

Maybe he hadn't.

The doctor pressed a small button on a complicated looking contraption that rested on the table beside him, turned back to face Peeta. His voice was firm, brisk, but still managed to sound friendly.

"My name is Doctor Aurelius, and I'll be conducting an interview as well as some tests with you today. None of the tests are being conducted to harm or hurt you in any way - it's simply to track and record your recovery. I understand that some of the questions we ask you may be hard for you to answer, so if at any time you wish to stop, you simply have to advise us. In addition, you must be aware that this testing is being recorded for future reference. Do you understand?"

Peeta nodded. The sooner he got all of this out of the way, the sooner he could rejoin Cressida and Plutarch, and start fighting for the Rebellion again. "Yes."

"Then please state your name, age and place of birth for the record."

"Peeta Mellark, 22, and I was born in the Capitol."

"Occupation?"

"Photographer. Previously I worked on the Victory Tour, however I recently began working with President Snow, as his official photographer."

"What can you tell me about the Rebellion?"

"I am involved in the cause, actively."

"In what way?"

"Primarily as a seeker of information. My profession allowed me access to many places I otherwise wouldn't, and my appointment by Snow to my recent position meant I was essentially a mole, directly into the President's office."

"Who are your contacts within the Rebellion?"

"Plutarch Heavensbee and Cressida. Her crew, Pollux and Castor. Cinna. And a number of Victors."

"Who are?"

"Haymitch Abernathy from Twelve, Finnick Odair and Mags Riordan from Four." He felt his heart clench at Mags' name, but he swallowed heavily, continued to look at Aurelius confidently.

"And do you know where you are right now?"

"District Thirteen."

Aurelius crossed one leg over the other, let a beat of silence fall after the constant questions. "Peeta, tell me about your time in the Capitol."

Peeta inhaled sharply, closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. "I -  _we_  - were kept in cells in an underground level of the old Tribute Centre. We would be taken out at different times, sometimes to a small cell at the end of the corridor, but most times out to a different floor entirely. The few times they took each of us to the small cell, that was when they would inflict more noticeable physical punishment. Sometimes I just think they took us to that cell so the others...so the others could hear."

"Hear what?"

"What they were doing to us. What we were...screaming." He whispered the last word, remembered the echoes of Jo and Annie's cries.

"Peeta, would you like to stop?"

"No. No, it's okay." Peeta forced himself to sit up straight again. "Those times I would get beaten, as would Johanna and Annie. The other times, they would tie me down to a table, put electrodes against my skin, hook me up to a machine. The pain would be short, and sharp, and I'd be out cold. And then I'd be awake again, and being taken back to my cell."

"You don't remember what they did during those times?"

"I was knocked out, so no."

"What about Annie and Johanna's experiences when they were taken to another floor. Do you know what happened to them?"

He swallowed heavily. "I have an idea. That's not for me to tell, though. That's up to them."

"That's fine," Aurelius murmured. "Did you meet with President Snow during your incarceration?"

Peeta nodded. "Yes, a number of times. Sometimes he would interrogate me, or just simply ask me what seemed like pointless questions. I...some of the conversations I can't really remember anymore. But I know we had them."

"Did you tell him about the Rebellion?"

Peeta shook his head. "I didn't tell him anything he didn't already know. Once Plutarch got away, it didn't take him long to figure things out."

Aurelius nodded, glanced at the machine beside him. "Okay. Could you tell me a little about your family?"

Startled at the abrupt change in topic, Peeta fidgeted in his seat for a moment, fisted the hem of his shirt in his hands. "Um, my parents are Nolan and Deliah Mellark, my brothers are Aaran and Ethen. They own and run an artisan bakery in the Capitol."

"And did they know of your involvement in the rebellion?"

"No."

"Did they have any suspicions?"

"No. We aren't what you'd call a close family."

"And what about your love life? Girlfriend? Wife?"

Peeta blinked. "Uh, I have neither. The responsibilities of my job hasn't really afforded me the time to meet anyone. I spend my time with the crew, with my rebel contacts, with those involved in the Victory Tour."

"No one special in your life?"

"No." His mind flickered back to when he'd first arrived, when a moderately pretty dark haired girl had told him they were in love, had clenched his hand tight enough that he thought she'd break his bones. Finnick had been there, had shockingly nodded his head in confirmation. In the days since, Peeta had come to the conclusion that maybe this girl had some kind of illness, maybe some kind of memory problem that made her  _think_  they were together. It was the only thing he could think of.

Of course, it didn't explain why Finnick had agreed with her comments, but maybe he'd simply thought it would bother her too much if he hadn't. He supposed Finnick wouldn't have expected Peeta's panicked response any more than Peeta had, really, and neither of them had brought it up when they'd seen each other after he'd calmed down.

Though maybe it was time it was.

"Alright, Peeta, what can you tell me of the last Victor you worked with?"

Peeta smiled gently. "It was a young girl from Eleven, Rue. She hid out in the trees until it was down to the final three - then she dropped a Tracker Jacker nest on top of the Tributes from 2. She was very sweet, not made for the terrors of the Capitol." He lowered his eyes and his voice. "I heard she died in the 75th Arena, though, before we could extricate the Rebels."

When the doctor didn't say anything in reply, Peeta looked up, to see the man staring at him curiously. Then, almost as though his silence was embarrassing, Aurelius coughed, abruptly rose to his feet.

"Okay, Mr Mellark. We're going to run some physical tests now, if you don't mind?"

Peeta fought down the slight panic that always rose when they began the tests, thinking of how he'd been strapped down, tied up, knocked out while in the Capitol, and gripped his hands tightly together. "No, that's fine. Let's get started."

_Whatever it took to get back to the fight._

* * *

Katniss woke with a start, her back cramping and aching from the way she'd fallen asleep in the hospital chair. She hadn't meant to - she'd wanted to stay awake, wanted to at least  _see_  him as much as she could - but three days of almost sleepless nights had caught up with her.

And the sleepless nights were all to no avail anyway. It never changed anything.

Since Peeta had woken up, she hadn't been allowed to visit with him. The sentence  _"I don't know who you are"_  had tumbled from his lips and at first she'd been shocked into silence, before stumbling over her own words, telling him who she was and what they meant to each other. His eyes had widened, and blinked, and looked at Finnick for confirmation - at his friends nod, the monitors Peeta had been connected to had started beeping out of control and doctors and nurses had rushed in, while strong arms had dragged her out.

She'd watched through the open doorway as they'd tried to calm him down, as he thrashed and writhed against them in confusion, before they injected him with something that knocked him out again. And they'd kept her out since.

Friends and confidants had come and gone since then; Haymitch, Plutarch, even Johanna - all hesitantly at first, until it was obvious that he knew them, recognised them. And as her gaze shifted across to the wide one-way window that looked into Peeta's room, it appeared as though now, it was Cressida's turn to reintroduce herself to him.

She'd spoken to the Capitolite a few times since their arrival in Thirteen, mostly during the hours they'd spent filming propos. For someone from the Capitol, she seemed quite grounded, down to Earth - a sharpshooter who wasn't caught up in the frivolity of her home city. Katniss didn't know why she was a part of the Rebellion, and Cressida had never volunteered the information, but Katniss supposed it didn't really matter. Everyone had their own reasons, and she was hopeful that whatever Cressida's reasons were, they were good ones. Something about the tattooed woman told her that they were.

The two were seated on his bed, talking enthusiastically, hands gesticulating wildly. The smile on Peeta's face was huge, and when he tipped his head back and laughed, Katniss swore she could hear it, even though she knew the room was soundproofed. And she was shocked at the all encompassing surge of jealousy and bitterness that travelled through her - it burned that Peeta could sit there and laugh and smile with Cressida, while he didn't even know who Katniss was.

Resting her head despondently on the back of her seat, she continued to study him through the glass as he spoke, as his head ducked down over a small box that was sitting on the bed. And as his hands reached in, and pulled something out, Katniss realised that it wasn't just Cressida that had put a smile on his face. It was the camera that he now held.

It was one of the ones she'd regularly seen hanging around his neck, or held up to his eye, or sitting in his lap as they'd kissed under the rotunda back in Twelve. So often she would watch as his fingers gracefully manipulated the lense, as he'd intently look at the screen to see the image he'd captured. And right now, as his hands clasped it as though it were a lifeline, there was a peace, a calmness and comfort on his face that hadn't been there since his rescue. And it killed her that she had nothing to do with it.

The rebellion may have started, she thought with a sigh, but there were still things keeping her and Peeta apart.

Katniss heard the door to the hallway inch open, and she turned her head slowly to see Haymitch, wool cap tugged down low, his grey eyes tired and weary. She knew he'd spent the last hour with Thirteen's doctors and specialists at her request, after they'd been advised that a new round of tests on Peeta had been completed the afternoon before.

"Do you know anything new?" she muttered, not even bothering to properly greet him.

"A little."

"Tell me."

"Geez, just gimme a minute," he grunted, stood in front of the glass window, tipped his head to the side as he studied the scene in front of him. "Huh. She take him his camera?"

Katniss shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "I guess so. I was asleep when she went in there."

"It's probably good for him to have. Something familiar."

"Yeah." He was right. Peeta probably hadn't had his hands on a camera since before he was imprisoned, and she knew how much it meant to him, how much it was a part of him.

Blowing his nose noisily on a dark grey handkerchief, Haymitch moved back to slump down in the seat beside her. "So what do you want to know, sweetheart?"

"Whatever you can tell me. Everything they told you."

Haymitch took a deep breath, rested his elbows on his knees and allowed his arms to dangle down towards the floor. "Look, they're still not sure," he admitted. "They interviewed him and did the more in depth scans they told us they were going to do and the results...well, the Doc's never seen anything like it before. There were masses of white spots on his brain that showed up on the new scans."

Confusion crossed her face. "White spots? What does that mean?"

"Exactly that - white spots." He spread his hands wide at Katniss' unimpressed glare. "Okay, you know when a fire lights up, and afterwards, there's a trail of ash left behind? Like it's a point of impact, evidence that something was there, and it's now gone?"

"Y-yes..."

"Well it's kind of like that. As though things have just been removed. Burned out."

Katniss swallowed the lump in her throat. "Things," she murmured. "Not things. You just mean me."

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Yeah, it looks that way. He has no recollection of you at all. He only remembers Twelve as a place he visited on Victory Tours, and your mom and Prim as friends of mine."

Katniss felt her stomach pitch. "He...He can't even remember Prim?"

Haymitch scratched awkwardly at his arm. "He remembers her, but only as Prim. Not as your sister. He doesn't even think she has a sister."

Her mouth dropped open. "But how...what...can they..." she trailed off. "How have they done this? How can they be so  _specific_?" She shook her head. "No, don't answer that. I want to speak to Aurelius myself."

"Why?" Haymitch's voice was pained. "It isn't going to change anything. You think because  _you_  ask him, he'll magically know the answers?"

"I don't  _care_ , I just want to hear it. I want to hear his words. I want to hear him tell  _me_."

"You want to hear him tell you that Peeta may never remember you from before his retrieval."

Katniss firmed her lips together tightly. "Yes."

"You think that's a good idea?"

She gestured to the window, to the two heads huddled together as they inspected his camera. "I sit here for hours, watching him see virtually everyone but me. You tell me his brain is burned. How is seeing some stupid doctor I've already seen myself a dozen times be any worse?!" Her voice pitched at the end. "I'm sick of being left out of what's happening!"

"You're no-"

"I am! From the very start, I have. The rebellion? I only get bits and pieces of information  _for my safety_. Finnick knows, Jo knows, Peeta knows, Haymitch knows. Does Katniss?  _No._ " Weeks of pent up frustration, frustration that had been buried beneath grief and worry and terror, suddenly burst forth at her mentor. "I know nothing except the bare essentials -  _none_ of which includes a rescue attempt - and then I'm just supposed to play along? Accept it when you tell me that Peeta doesn't know me anymore? Accept it when Plutarch basically tells me that 'Oh sorry, I saved my own ass, but left Peeta behind to die'? Well screw that. I'm sick of-"

"Okay." Haymitch rested his hands on her shoulders, looked down at her seriously. "Okay. I'll organize a meeting with you and Aurelius, and you can ask all the questions you want. Alright?"

Katniss clenched her jaw together so tightly she thought her teeth would crack. "Soon?"

"As soon as we can."

* * *

"From the studies we've done so far, it appears as though Tracker Jacker venom was the primary drug they fed him. Injected into the bloodstream at regular intervals, small doses. Combined with what I believe was electroshock therapy, we've come to the conclusion that this is what's causing the memory loss." Dr Aurelius gestured towards the multiple pictures, scans, graphs and scientific formulas on the screens in his office.

True to his word, it hadn't taken long for Haymitch to organize the meeting - less than two hours after he'd promised her, she was sitting in the Doctor's office. Coin had, at first, disagreed -  _"Pain in the ass, that woman," Haymitch had muttered, "Never trust anyone who keeps even their cough medicine under lock and key"_ \- but the doctor himself had brushed aside the President's concerns, and had agreed to meet with Katniss.

It was the first time since Peeta had gotten to Thirteen and wasn't being checked over by medical staff that she wasn't watching over him, and it felt wrong. But, she reminded herself as her frustration grew at Aurelius' words, it was for a reason. She needed to know.

"It's not memory loss," Katniss snapped at him before she could stop herself, sitting upright in her seat. "It's just me.  _Me._ He doesn't have amnesia or anything like that. They just made him forget about  _me_."

Doctor Aurelius nodded, sympathy on his face. "Yes, that's right. It's concentrated around you." He glanced down at his charts, a man in his early fifties with brown hair slowly going grey, stubble covering his chin - and suddenly faced with the biggest challenge in his medical career. Nothing like this had ever happened in Thirteen.

Ever.

"I meant to ask this earlier, Doc, and I might be wrong, but I thought TJ venom was just a hallucinogen," Haymitch piped up. "You know. Weird, hey-look-my-hands-are-made-of-bubbles shit."

Aurelius nodded. "Mostly, it is. Though through some rebel channels over the years, I've become aware of testing the Capitol has done, working with various strains of the venom, different strengths. I'd heard a few years ago that they'd perfected a version of the drug that altered people's memories - that they selected certain thoughts and memories and distorted them. They used it as punishment for traitors, trying it as an alternative to Avoxing. I would say this is the next level up from that - a combination of the venom and the electroshock, concentrated on certain parts of the brain. Then, in parts where they knew Peeta would have too significant a blank, they've appeared to have essentially changed his memory."

"Like how?"

Aurelius sighed, consulted his notes before glancing back at Katniss. "Peeta believes Rue won the 74th games, that she went into the 75th and was killed."

Katniss blinked in disbelief and glanced at Haymitch, who looked away uncomfortably. "He thinks Rue won?"

"If he doesn't know you, he needs an alternative Victor," the doctor said simply. "They obviously knew that Peeta would be concerned if he couldn't remember the last Victor, with your removal from his memory, so they embedded a history of Rue as the winner in your stead. That appears to be the only major fabrication they've fed him, though."

"I'm confused," Katniss murmured, her shoulders beginning to slump, the fight that had been in her slowly slipping. "How can they just focus on certain parts of his memory, or his brain? How did they know they weren't going to wipe his memory completely?"

Aurelius shrugged. "Like I told Haymitch earlier - your guess is as good as mine. Whoever conducted the procedures was good, very good. And they knew what they were doing. It's the Capitol, of course, and they likely have specialised equipment that would enable them to. But without access to that kind of equipment myself, and even not knowing for sure what they did, I couldn't give you any concrete answers."

"But we can reverse it, right?" she whispered, and wrapped her arms around her waist as though that was the only thing holding her together. "You can fix him."

"I...I don't know for sure. We need to keep doing testing - I already advised Haymitch of that."

"You  _need_  to fix him."

"We're doing our best, and we'll continue to do all that we can to rectify what the Capitol has done. But I can't give you any guarantees. I'm sorry." He sat forward in his chair. "Katniss, I need to give you some advice, beyond your concerns for Peeta. For your own health and well being, you can't continue to sit in that room and watch him constantly. I know you don't like the decision that's been made to keep you from seeing him, but it's for his benefit, and you know if there's any change, we'd inform you immediately. But please, try and get back into a routine. Go to the cafeteria at your scheduled meal time, see your sister, go outside-"

Katniss shook her head fiercely. "I can't go outside. It's too far away from him."

"Then go to one of the propagation houses. At least it resembles the outside. You're not going to be any good to him if you allow this to consume you."

His words were heavy and pointed, and made Katniss think of her mother, of her reaction to her husbands death. How it almost broke her.

And how Katniss didn't want the same thing to happen to her. After all, hadn't that been her argument against love all along? Hadn't she sworn to herself that she'd never be like that?

Slowly, she nodded, and Aurelius smiled slightly. "Good. You really do need to find a sense of routine, Katniss. It's the best thing for you and, ultimately, the best thing for Peeta. We'll do everything we can to try and retrieve his memories of you. I promise."

* * *

For the first time in what felt like months, Peeta felt like he could breathe again - the air was fresh and cool and slightly thick, with the faint cloying scent of honeysuckle. At least, he thought it was honeysuckle. Living in the Capitol meant that everything was unnaturally scented and formulated, man made like everything else, so you could never really be sure.

But he figured here, their aim was to at least have something real, a reminder of what was above ground, of what many of them had never seen or felt or smelt. So he had a feeling that, regardless of whether it was honeysuckle or not, it was  _real_. And that was what mattered most.

In clear opposition to the rest of Thirteen that he'd seen so far, the propagation house on sublevel 22 was full of green and yellow and purple and pink. Flowers bloomed - in hanging baskets, on long tables, row upon row of brightly coloured blooms that almost hurt the eyes after the blandness of everywhere else. He eagerly drank in the colours and textures and shades and patterns, focusing in on them with his camera, revelling at how good it felt to have it in his hands again.

Since Cressida had given it to him that morning, he'd found he was more settled, calmer, more like himself again. And after Plutarch had escorted him from the medical ward to the propagation house, telling him that the President of Thirteen, Coin, wanted to speak with him as soon as possible about actively assisting with the rebellion again, he felt like he was almost there, back to the Peeta from before. The nightmares of what they did to him in the Capitol wouldn't go away, but at least he knew there would be no permanent effects from what they'd done. If there were, he was certain the President wouldn't be letting him become involved again.

Deftly amending the zoom so that the smooth edges of the deep purple flower in front of him were in focus, Peeta snapped half a dozen shots, then straightened, held the camera to his eye as he aimed to get a wide shot of the entire row. And hissed in annoyance when a body turned the corner and immediately stepped - and froze - within his shot.

He lifted his head, ready to ask them as politely as he could for them to move out of his frame, only to pause when he realised who it was.

Slowly lowering the camera until it hung around his neck just by the strap, Peeta stared at the girl, at her long black braid and her wide grey -  _or were they silver, he couldn't tell_  - eyes. He couldn't decide if the look in them was horrified or terrified or shocked or all three rolled into one, and he was curious as to whether she could remember the claims she'd made back in the ward. He wasn't sure what to make of her, this girl who'd emphatically claimed that he loved her, and she loved him. But right now, he was a guest in her District - the least he could do was be courteous.

Taking a deep breath, Peeta smiled. "Hello there."

She blinked, did a double take. Her feet shuffled against the bare concrete floor, while her cheeks turned pink. "Uh, hi. I, um, didn't expect to see you here. Sorry, I should go. I'll...I'll leave you alone."

He shook his head quickly. "No, no it's okay. Don't leave on my account."

She nodded hesitantly. "Okay." She reached a hand out, brushed her fingers along one of the blooms, all the while not taking her eyes off him. They were actually quite stunning up close, he realised, a hundred emotions seeming to swim in their grey depths. "So, they released you from the medical ward, huh?"

Peeta rested a hip against the bench beside him. "Not entirely, I think they just thought I deserved a little time away from the monitors," he smiled. "Though I figure mostly they just don't know what to do with me. I'm the only one left in there now."

"Yeah, I heard that Annie and Johanna were moved into their own compartments." Her voice trembled a little, even though it sounded forced, and overly proper.

"They have - although Annie is sharing a couples compartment with Finnick, her fiance. You remember him, right? From the other day?" He said the words carefully, just in case she didn't.

"Of course I remember," she murmured, her hands linking in front of her, her fingers white at the knuckles, the skin stretched taut. "I was there."

He nodded, absently lifted his hands to his camera. "Well they're relieved and excited to have been reunited. Your District has been very kind to not only us rebels, but also the refugees of Twelve. I've met a few of them before, when I was work-"

"I know!" The words burst from her like they'd been fighting to get out, and her eyes widened in shock at her outburst. But it didn't stop her from continuing. "I know, Peeta! I'm  _from_  there. Can't you remember? Just look at me, and remember! Surely you remember! I'm Katniss.  _Katniss. Katniss Everdeen._ Your girlfriend!" Her words echoed around the room, and she clapped a hand over her mouth then, chest heaving, shoulders shaking.

He couldn't prevent the step he took back from her, putting space in between them. Her tirade had come virtually out of nowhere, and it made him instantly wary. "Um, I'm sorry, but I don't know you at all. I've never met you before in my life, save for the other day. I don't know what you're talking about."

She shook her head forcefully, took back the step he'd taken from her. "No, you have to remember me, Peeta. Don't you remember meeting me in Twelve to take my photographs, going on the Victory Tour before the 75th, our time...our time in the Capitol?"

"I took photographs of the Victor Rue Lacour, went on the Victory Tour with her and her team," Peeta snapped, the familiar panic from the other day beginning to set in.

"It was me!" She hissed through clenched teeth. "It was  _me._  I was the last Victor!"

"No you weren't!" He yelled it this time, the panic bubbling over. "Nothing you're saying makes any sense to me!"

"It should! Peeta, you need to remember!"

He stumbled back again, knocked into a table topped with plants. The crashing of pots hitting the ground startled them both, the sound reverberating around them. "I want you to leave," he choked out.

"I can't," she muttered desperately. "I need you."

"I don't know you," Peeta whispered again. "I don't know you at all."

He watched as she visibly choked on her breath, as her hands reached for her neck, as though she couldn't inhale any air. "You don't mean it," She whispered. "Say you don't mean it."

"I don't know you," he repeated, and this time he tried to infuse as much force as he could into his voice, even while he felt like he was going to be sick. "You need to leave. Now."

With a strangled sob, she whirled on her heel, began to rush down the aisle before she turned back abruptly. She looked like a grey storm in the middle of a colourful calm, and even from this far away, he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. "My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17 years old, and a survivor of two Hunger Games. I'm from District Twelve, and it no longer exists. I now live in District Thirteen, where I spent the last month waiting for the man I love to be rescued from the Capitol. His name is Peeta Mellark. And he can't even remember me." She ran from the room, her footsteps echoing on the concrete floor, leaving him shaking and stunned.

That had virtually been his mantra, his way of trying to remind himself of all the good things in his life. No one -  _no one_  - but him knew about it.

Except for her.

_Except for her._

_Katniss Everdeen._

* * *

It was hours later that Katniss heard the knock on her compartment door, a soft gentle tapping that, had she not been sitting in complete and utter silence, she wouldn't have otherwise heard. It didn't matter that she  _had_  heard it, though, because she had no intention of answering. She wasn't in the mood to speak with anyone or see anyone, not after today. Not after Peeta.

_I don't know you at all. Nothing you're saying makes any sense to me_.

_I don't know you._

His words had cut like a knife, worse than when he'd looked at her like a stranger when he'd woken up, and in the end, she couldn't stay. It hadn't mattered how much she'd begged him, how much she'd tried to remind him, it didn't work. None of it worked.

All she wanted was for him to remember her.

"Katniss, it's Finnick. I know you're in there, let me in. Please."

She palmed at her damp eyes, wiped away the tears that threatened to come back now. "Go away."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She stared at the steel door blankly, pictured the bronze haired man on the other side, wondered if his rope was still clutched in his hands. And sighed reluctantly before pulling herself to her feet and crossing to open the door.

He stood there leaning against the frame, his trademark grin creeping across his face, albeit a little more subdued than normal. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

Scowling, Katniss turned her back on him, crossed to the bed where she slumped back down, leaning against the wall and stretching her legs out straight. Not waiting for an invitation, Finnick stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and mimicked her pose on the bed.

"Are you doing okay?" He repeated his query, waited patiently for her to respond. When she didn't, he sighed, smoothed a hand absently over his hair. "Katniss, I just want to make sure you're alright, that's all. I haven't seen you in a couple of days, and went to see you when I got out of training, but you weren't outside Peeta's room.

"I don't have to be there all the time you know," she snapped, and he nodded calmly.

"I know you don't. But I'm aware you pretty much  _have_  been. And now you're not."

She didn't know what to say at first, where to start. There was so much to say. And in the end, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"I...I...It's not fair," she finally murmured, fisting her hands in her lap. They were the words that had been on a loop in her head, along with  _why_  and  _how_  and  _not real_  since her encounter with Peeta.

"I know it isn't." Finnick's words were soft, almost as despondent as hers. "You still haven't been allowed in to see him again since that first time, have you?"

She swallowed heavily. "I, um, saw him earlier today, but it was by accident." Finnick's eyebrow raised in question and Katniss closed her eyes momentarily as she remembered. "I went to one of the propagation houses, and he was there too. But no, I'm still not supposed to see him; Coin and the doctors won't let me. They only let me sit in the waiting room and watch as he talks with everyone else, while he smiles at them and acts and talks like Peeta..." She felt the anger well up inside of her again as she opened her eyes and shook her head. "But not with me. I'm too confusing for him."

"You know why, Katniss."

"I know, I  _saw_  why, felt it first hand today," she bit out, shook her head no when Finnick opened his mouth to surely ask what happened. "But I still can't accept it. Why me? Why just  _me_? Why am I the only one he can't remember?"

He reached over and rested his hand on hers, took a moment before he spoke. "Because taking you away from Peeta was the best way for Snow to hurt both of you."

Katniss opened her mouth to speak, but found nothing came out, nothing but a gasp as Finnick's words hit her. It was because of her, everything that had happened to Peeta had happened because of  _her_. What she'd done, what she'd started, even if she hadn't meant to. She'd been so focused on  _what_  had happened to Peeta to even think about  _why_  it had happened, why he'd been taken by the Capitol. Why had it taken Finnick saying that for the realisation to finally hit?

"It's my fault," she burst out, dropping her head to her knees, her hands fisting in her hair. "He's like this because of me. He got hurt because of me."

Finnick shook his head frantically. "No, Katniss, no, that's not what I meant. Peeta knew the risks when he signed up for the rebellion."

"But he wouldn't have been working as close to Snow if it hadn't been for me."

"You can't think like that. The bruises will heal, and he'll be healthy again - he's already put on weight. And-"

"You know that's not it," Katniss lifted her head, her voice barely above a whisper, the intensity of her words enough to cut him off. "They...they did things to his  _brain_. If they were able to take me out of there, then what else did it do? What if it has long term effects? What if-"

"Katniss," Finnick interrupted softly. "You need to stop with the 'what ifs'."

"But he doesn't remember me. And he  _won't_ remember me." She knew her eyes were wild, that she was in danger of slipping into the same kind of episodes that led her to the supply closet for days.

"I know, I'm sorry." This time when Finnick spoke, his voice cracked. "It hurts knowing what they did to them. Watching Peeta not recognise you was horrifying. Johanna won't go near water, and won't explain why. And Annie...Annie...

He trailed off, and they looked at each other, disgust mirrored in both their eyes. They'd not spoken of what had happened to Annie, but Katniss had heard the whispers in the medical ward. And she hated knowing.

"Like you said," Katniss finally muttered. "Snow took Peeta's memories of me because he knew that's what would punish us the most. He did the same for you and Annie."

She watched Finnick's Adam's apple bob, watched his blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I know."

They sat in silence for a long time, thinking about Peeta, about Annie, about what had happened to them, until he wearily rose to his feet. "I think...I need to go and be with her. Do you want to come with me, see her?"

Katniss shook her head, hating that it was so easy for him, and hating that she felt bitter for it. "No."

He squeezed her hand once more, and left her alone.

She curled up on her side, stared blankly at the wall, her thoughts scattered until one was crystal clear. It was always going to be better if she was alone, she realised. No one got hurt if she was.

So alone she'd be.

* * *

_10am - Presidential Conference Room_

She shouldn't have been surprised for the words to form on her arm after scanning her schedule for the first time in days. She'd purposely ignored the scanner since Peeta's return, and spending as little time as possible in her compartment had made it easy. But being back with Prim and their mom had thrust her immediately back into a routine, and she'd done it almost by rote before she'd reluctantly joined them for breakfast. And now she wished she hadn't.

"Soldier Everdeen?"

Katniss lifted her head, her fingers continuing to trace the inked brand on her arm as she looked across the conference table at President Coin. She still didn't feel entirely comfortable with the title they'd given her, because since when was she a soldier? It didn't make any sense. "Yes?"

"Mr Heavensbee asked you twice for your opinion on the last propos." The President's voice bordered on clipped, her eyes blank and cold.

"It was fine," Katniss shrugged, though she couldn't remember it to save her life. What did it even matter anyway?

"Yes,  _fine_. But not great - not nearly impactful enough," Plutarch sighed, studied the tablet in front of him. "That's part of the reason the next stage is going to be so important."

"Next stage?" Around the conference room, she felt bodies - Boggs, Gale, Finnick, another man and woman she didn't recognise - all shift in their seat, or stand to attention. She didn't even know why half of them were here. "What do you mean, the next stage? What are you talking about?"

Rising to her feet, Coin walked across the room, her curtain of grey hair barely shifting with the movement, and pressed her hand to the giant screen that took up the majority of the wall. It shimmered and flickered for a second, before a grainy picture of a rocky terrain with a towering mountain appeared. "Soldier Everdeen, while you have been...indisposed, great strides have been made in our plans to overthrow the Capitol," Coin started, folding her hands in front of her. "Intercepted messages tell us that while the Capitol was able to get their communications and security back online not long after the Victors rescue, District Two is still heavily compromised. And as Two is where the military base is, it's an opportune time for us to attack, to take that element away from them."

Katniss swallowed, studied the picture. "And that's Two?".

"That's Two," Plutarch confirmed, missing the pointed glare Coin threw in his direction for taking over the conversation. "Their military headquarters is housed in the mountain, which used to be a mine. They excavated it, reinforced it, built it up; it's a stronghold. Any previous attempts to disable it have failed. It's a tough nut to crack."

"But if we can defeat and overpower the mountain," Coin continued sharply, "They will have their military power severely reduced, and it puts us on a direct course to the Capitol."

"But shouldn't we go straight  _for_  the Capitol? Not waste anymore time? Go straight for...for the jugular?" Katniss argued, her memory flicking back to a time before her own Games, when Haymitch gave her so many suggestions on remaining alive that they'd inadvertently stuck within her psyche.

Coin wryly lifted an eyebrow. "Waste time, Soldier Everdeen? I assure you that defeating Two is a lot less of a waste of time than...other items that have been made a priority."

The implication behind her words weren't lost on Katniss, her hands fisting in her lap.

_Look what I've done for you._

Biting back words that wanted to spew forth bitterly, Katniss forced herself to speak as civilly as possible. "When does this start? When will we leave?"

The corner of Coin's mouth turned up slightly, though it resembled nothing of a smile. "We, Soldier Everdeen? You believe you're on that list?"

Katniss steeled her shoulders. After yesterday, it was clear that nothing was keeping her here. Her mother and Prim and the rest of the refugees were doing just fine - no one needed her right now. Especially not Peeta. "You say it yourself every time you refer to me as Soldier Everdeen. I did training with everyone else, and what for? To do nothing but look authentic in propos? No, if there's a team going to Two, then so am I."

"I don't think-"

"You want better propos don't you?" Katniss interrupted Plutarch sharply.

"Yes-"

"Then you'll get them, with me on the frontline, encouraging our comrades in rebellion."

Plutarch's eyes lit up, and she could almost see him squirm in his seat in excitement. "Yes, yes, of course, of course! Brilliant!"

Katniss turned back to Coin, rose from her seat. "If you want me to be the Mockingjay, then I do it out in the Districts, not Thirteen. I'm done hiding. I'm done staying here."

The President crossed the room, stood opposite Katniss as she planted her hands on the table. "Fine. If that's what you want, Soldier Everdeen, then that's what you'll get. Three more days of training, and then you're gone."

Her face said reluctance and annoyance, but the closer Katniss looked, the more she recognised the look in Coin's eyes was nothing of the sort. It wasn't frustration that Katniss was overstepping the mark, or trying to assert herself - it was triumph, clear as day. And she realised Coin had played her cards exactly right all along.

_Look what I've done for you._

_You believe you're on that list?_

Peeta, she suddenly realised, was just another bargaining chip for Coin to use to get Katniss to do what she wanted. And so were Katniss' emotions.

What Coin wanted  _was_  for her to go to Two. And Katniss had played right into her hands.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments - they all mean a lot. I know the update took a little longer than normal, but RL responsibilities definitely get in the way of fun sometimes ;)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I love to chat about Everlark and THG.


	25. Chapter 25

_"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17 years old, and a survivor of two Hunger Games. I'm from District Twelve, and it no longer exists. I now live in District Thirteen, where I spent the last month waiting for the man I love to be rescued from the Capitol. His name is Peeta Mellark. And he can't even remember me."_

* * *

_He ignored every glance in his direction, every dirty look that got shot his way as he pushed and ran down the halls back to the medical ward. He didn't care what they thought of him, what they were thinking. Right now, there was only one thing he wanted, one thing he cared about._

_His camera case._

_Peeta shoved open the door to his room, scrambled across it for the case that still resided on the side table, where he'd left it earlier before going to the propagation house. He gripped it in his hands and dropped to the bed, tucked his hand inside to feel for the hidden compartment where he'd always kept some the backup chips that contained his photos for safekeeping. He breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers brushed against the small circles of metal._

_Digging one out, he glanced at the green circle warily for a moment before opening the camera slot and sliding it in. And took a deep breath before he turned his camera back on, waited for the data to load._

_He felt his stomach pitch the moment the first image appeared._

_It was her._

* * *

"When were you going to tell me?"

Peeta didn't bother with niceties, or even a hello, as Finnick walked through to his room the next morning, the door closing firmly behind him. Finnick's eyes widened at the sharpness to Peeta's voice, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his standard issue pants nervously.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Peeta rose from the bed, where he'd spent the entire night before pouring over the photos the chips contained, and practically shoved the camera in Finnick's face. "This!"

"Wh-what's this? What are you showing me?" The way the colour drained from his friend's face spoke volumes.

" _Katniss_ ," Peeta hissed. "She's all over this chip, dozens and dozens of photos of her. Of me. Of us together.  _And_   _I don't even know her_. What the hell is going on, Finnick? What's being kept from me?" He watched as Finnick swallowed heavily, as his eyes darted over to the mirrored window that Peeta knew separated him from the small observation room. "Who's out there? Who's out there right now?" Peeta demanded.

Finnick kept his voice low. "No one is out there right now. It's just me." He bit down on his lip, flicked his sea-green eyes back to meet Peeta's. "I...we weren't allowed to tell you. Coin forbid it until all the tests were done, to make sure that the Doc's suspicions were right. I wanted to, every time I saw you, and I know others did too."

"Tell me  _what?_ " The frustration and anger he felt overrode any of Finnick's protestations that he'd wanted to tell him.  _Wanted to_ meant very little to him right now.

"Are you sure you want to hear this? Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course I want to know!" He rammed the camera into Finnick's chest, where Finnick had no choice but to lift his hands to grasp a hold of it. Peeta whirled on his feet, scrubbed his hands through his hair as he paced across the room. "Are they real? Or are the photos manipulated to...to...play with my mind, or something? To drive me insane? Is this some kind of punishment for being captured?"

"No!" Finnick shook his head emphatically, dropped his gaze down to the camera, and the image it was currently displaying. "This picture, and any others of Katniss...they're all real. All real."

"There's a photo of us kissing. I took it - you can see I did, with the way my arm is outstretched. There's a photo of her sitting in the sun, with a flower in her hand. And there's a photo of her, on-stage, in District 4. Like a Victor would. And dozens upon dozens more." Peeta turned again, and he knew his aching eyes were red from lack of sleep and constantly staring at the small image screen for hours. "We were together, weren't we? A couple? And she was the last Victor. Not Rue."

Finnick slumped to the end of the bed, placed the camera on the sheet and ran a hand across his face. "Yeah, she was, and you were."

The confirmation alone was like a punch to the gut. "Then I need you to tell me everything."

"Everything?"

"Don't leave anything out."

He listened, not saying a word, as Finnick told him what he knew. Of Katniss winning the 74th Games, of Peeta being contracted to complete her portraits before the Victory Tour. Of the connection between them, of President Snow's request that Peeta pretend to be in a relationship with her. Of the relationship being anything  _but_  pretend, and the times Peeta visited Katniss in Twelve. Of the conversations he'd had with Finnick about his feelings for Katniss.

He told him about how insistent Katniss was about rescuing him from the Capitol, how she'd demanded to be a part of the group that liberated himself, and Jo and Annie. How she'd sat patiently by his bedside and waited for him to wake, only for when he did, to be met with the stark reality that he couldn't remember her. And he told him Dr Aurelius'  _real_  theory, the theory that his mind had been manipulated to remove any part of Katniss from his brain, from his memory, from his life. As the final punishment for betraying Snow.

"I can't believe this," Peeta murmured. About midway through Finnick's speech he'd lowered himself to the floor, his back resting against the wall as he took everything in. He couldn't decide exactly how he felt - angry, upset, horrified, confused. Possibly a combination of all of them all wrapped up together. "I just...I just assumed he was angry because I was part of the Rebellion. That the torture was because of that."

"I'd say the torture was. The rest of it though - well, that would be his anger over Katniss."

"Katniss." Peeta rolled the word around his mouth, tried to imagine saying it hundreds of times before. He couldn't. "I said some awful things to her yesterday in the propagation house."

Finnick winced. "She mentioned she'd seen you. She wasn't very happy when I spoke to her about it."

"I don't blame her," he murmured. "But what am I supposed to do, how am I supposed to feel? She's obviously the one and only blank spot in my memory, and I can't pretend to feel something I don't." He twisted his hands in his lap, dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "She looked at me yesterday in a way no one ever has, and I can't reciprocate. I don't know her. But I don't want to hurt her, either."

"You said yourself you can't pretend. If you don't love her, you'll hurt her anyway." Finnick's words were soft, but carried weight, and grief.

"I can't love someone I don't know," Peeta whispered. "She has this life of us...and I have nothing. Whatever we had, Snow took it from me. From us. And I don't think I can get that back."

* * *

" _Peeta, stop it!"_

" _Stop what?"_

" _Stop trying to take a photo!"_

_He laughed, lowered his arm and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Sorry, I just can't help myself. You're my favourite subject."_

_Katniss rolled her eyes, punched gently at his arm. "You're awfully happy today."_

_Peet shrugged, stretched his legs out in front of him. It was quiet in the Everdeen house, both Prim and Alice out visiting with sick patients in the Seam. It wasn't often that they were alone in the house when he visited - most times they elected to go out to the rotunda, or for a walk - but Peeta had suggested they stay in. After all, he'd murmured in her ear, they both knew the house was bugged, and it would seem odd that a young couple would go past the opportunity to spend some time alone in an otherwise empty house. Especially now._

_Katniss had blushed, but agreed. And while they'd shared kisses that were sometimes sweet and sometimes...not so sweet, it was their conversation, simple and unassuming and normal, that somehow meant the most to her._

_She wondered if this would be their life if they didn't have everything else to worry about. If they'd been born into a world without the Hunger Games._

" _Well, I'm here with you, aren't I? Of course I'm happy. I just want to enjoy every moment we have together."_

_What he didn't say, what she knew was on the tip of his tongue, was that they needed to make the most of every moment they had together until she went back into the Arena again._

_She pulled her legs up onto the sofa, tucked herself closer into his side. "I suppose that's a good enough reason," she murmured, pushing the near constant grief she felt about the games deeper down inside, and lifted her mouth up to his so he could press his lips to hers again._

_She pretended that she didn't notice his arm lift up in front of them, or hear the whirr of his camera._

* * *

"Katniss, wait! I need to speak to you!"

She stopped, glanced over her shoulder to see Finnick jogging quickly down the whitewashed hallway towards her. The moment Coin had released them from the meeting, she'd been up and out of her seat, stalking down the hallway to her compartment. She hadn't wanted to speak to anyone, see anything.

But she couldn't say no to Finnick.

"What is it?" She asked bluntly.  _Just because she couldn't say no to him didn't mean she had to be happy about it_.

"Can we, uh, talk privately?"

"Why?"

"It's..." he trailed off. "It's about Peeta."

She inhaled sharply, tried not to let the emotions of yesterday overwhelm her again. But she nodded quickly, turned on her heel and led him back to her room. Pushing the door to the compartment open, she called out for her mom and Prim, before she remembered their schedule had them in the medical ward until 2. Grateful that they wouldn't be here for whatever it was Finnick had to say, she closed the door behind them, turned to face him expectantly. "What is it?" she murmured.

Finnick pulled out one of the chairs tucked into the small table in the centre of the room, lowered himself down carefully. "I went to speak with him this morning, before the meeting with President Coin. And he, uh, he'd found some photos. Of you. And him. Together. On the Victory Tour, in Twelve. He knows."

Katniss' eyes widened. "What?"

"He knows it's the truth, Katniss. He knows you were together. Knows what Snow did to him."

"How?" She fought to keep her voice level.

"He...wanted to know. Needed to know. So I told him"

"What? I thought we weren't allowed to?" Coin had been so insistent they not tell him, had warned them all not to reveal the truth until she told them she could. And now Finnick had decided to blurt it out anyway.

 _It didn't matter that her outburst the day before had told him part of the truth. In her mind, it was completely different. He had no reason to believe_ _her_ ,  _but Finnick was another matter entirely._

He shook his head. "We weren't - or aren't, I suppose. But I guess he hid those chips in that case well, because I know they weren't found when Plutarch gave it the once over before Cressida gave it to him. Peeta flat out asked me when I went to see him before the meeting, and I couldn't not tell him. He wouldn't have believed me if I'd tried to tell him otherwise."

She lowered herself into the seat beside Finnick's, her body feeling like a limp rag doll. "Then what did...what did he say?"

"He was confused, shocked. But I don't think you should hear this from me. I think you should go and speak to him yourself," Finnick said quietly. "You both need to hear what the other has to say in person."

"But what if I don't know what to say?" She replied. "I didn't handle it well yesterday."

"I don't think that matters."

"What if they stop me?"

"They'd already know by now that he figured it out, Katniss. His room is under surveillance - they might not have known what pictures he sat up all night staring at, but they certainly know what we talked about when I visited. They can't stop you. They didn't come in and try to stop me."

"Coin will stop me. I  _know_ -"

"Katniss." Finnick's voice was firm, calm. Calmer than it had been since he'd caught up to her in the hallway. "Just go. You're expected in the training halls in an hour. You need to speak with him before you go to Two, and beyond today, I don't know how busy you'll be. So go. Now."

He didn't have to say it again.

* * *

Her heart pounded, raced, felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Her stomach twisted with nerves, her feet felt like lead with every step she took. She'd felt awful yesterday, their conversation playing over and over in her head. Having Peeta tell her that he didn't know her, that he didn't know  _them_  had cut her to the bone.

Now, less than 24 hours later, Peeta knew, she had no idea what she was going to say, and - if it was physically possible - she felt even worse.

Katniss slowly pushed the door open to the small observation room, was unsurprised to see Dr Aurelius there, standing at the window and patiently watching Peeta.

"I thought you'd come," he said, not turning to face her, maintaining his gaze on Peeta's prone form, curled up on the bed.

"Finnick told me," Katniss murmured. "He said I should come see him."

"He's right." This time, Dr Aurelius turned. He still looked as tired as he had the day before, and she wondered if he ever slept. "You should know that even though she's my leader, I didn't agree with President Coin's decision to keep the truth from him."

Katniss folded her arms across her chest; they felt heavy and useless dangling by her sides. "Will she be happy with you telling me that?"

He smiled slightly. "Madame President knew where I stood on the matter, I didn't keep it a secret." He cleared his throat. "It's good that you're going to speak to him, but don't expect miracles, Katniss, whatever you do. I still can't guarantee that we'll retrieve his memory of you."

Katniss nodded. "I know."

"I'm going to stay here, just in case, while you go in. Is that alright?"

"I suppose." What did he expect her to say?  _No, don't stay_? She knew he'd likely stay there anyway, regardless of what she said.

Dropping her arms and squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath, then pressed the button that released the door. The moment she stepped through and it gently closed, he was sitting up, his eyes immediately shooting across to her.

"Hi," she murmured.

"Hi." His voice was throaty, raw.

"I, uh...Finnick suggested I come and see you. But I don't want to bother you."

He shook his head, drew himself back so that he was resting against the bedhead. He tucked his legs up against his chest, wrapped his arms around them. "He told me. About us."

"Yeah. He told me you knew." Katniss linked her hands in front of her, twisted her fingers into knots. "How did...What made you ask him?"

His blue eyes - despite being rimmed in red - were almost unnaturally bright, reminding her of when they first met, and how she was so damn sure they were fake. That the blue was his nod to the ways of the Capitol.

She'd been so unbelievably wrong.

"You used my mantra, in the propagation house," he said softly. "And I'd never told anyone about it before. I only had two options - it got tortured out of me while I was in the Capitol and you were a spy. Or you were telling the truth." His fingers twitched against his knee, and she noted the small circle of green he clutched in between his thumb and forefinger. "I remembered the memory chips I hid for safekeeping when I packed the rest of my gear prior to the Arena extraction, figured my photos could tell me - and they did. Why didn't anyone tell me the truth?"

"We -  _they_  - weren't allowed."

He raised an eyebrow in question. " _They_  weren't? But you were?"

She shook her head. "No. I wasn't even supposed to see you, let alone talk to you."

"Oh." He chewed on his lower lip, looked across at the camera on his bedside table. The silence that followed was long and heavy with unspoken questions. "So I, um, don't really know what to say."

"Neither do I." She knew her tone was formal, polite. Fake, like when she spoke to Caesar in her interviews all those times. But what else could she do? Talking to him was like talking to a complete stranger again.

He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, in what she recognised as a nervous gesture. "There are a lot of photos of you on my backup chips."

She nodded dumbly.  _Yeah, there would be. Because you rarely let any of your cameras out of your sight. Because you wanted to take photos of everything, all the time, everywhere. For posterity._

_What good is posterity without a memory?_

"Can you..." he cleared his throat before he started over again. "Can you tell me some things? So I don't feel as...lost?"

She took a deep breath. "Of course."

"How did you win your Games?"

Katniss blinked, surprised. It wasn't what she'd expected him to ask, not first, not straight away - but then again, she reminded herself, she was nothing but a blank slate for him. The beginning was probably the best place to start.

"Um, it was down to me, and the boy from Two. Cato. We fought on top of the Cornucopia, he fell off. Was being mauled to death by mutts before I shot him with an arrow."  _If she said it clinically enough, if she just blurted it out as facts, maybe remembering wouldn't hurt so bad._

"Where did Rue finish?"

"Fifth," Katniss said quietly, lowering herself into the uncomfortable plastic chair in the corner of the room. "I killed Marvel moments after he hit her with a spear. Then Thresh killed Clove and Cato killed Thresh."

"And I took your Victor portraits, not Rue's?"

Katniss nodded.

He fidgeted slightly. "Did we...did we like each other straight away?"

She felt her cheeks heat, and she glanced away. "I didn't, not immediately. I tried not to like you."

"Why?"

"Why?" Katniss couldn't help but scoff as she looked back at him. "You're from the Capitol. The last thing I wanted was to like someone from the Capitol."

"But you did."

"Yeah. I did."  _I do._

He asked her question after question after question, about her, about them, about particular photos on the camera until her head felt like it was spinning and her heart was going to break. She was talking about her relationship with the man she loved - but she was having to explain it all. He remembered nothing, while she remembered everything.

" _Who knew we were real?"_

" _Where were we when this photo was taken?"_

" _Did you show me the rotunda in the middle of the woods?"_

" _Did your mom approve of us?"_

_"Did you meet my parents, my family?"_

" _When did you know about the Rebellion?"_

" _Did I tell you? Did Haymitch?"_

" _Did you know about the extraction plan?"_

She didn't know how much more she could take - how much more  _he_  could take - when they were interrupted by a loud buzz echoing through the room; both Katniss and Peeta instinctively glanced towards the mirrored window, despite neither of them being able to see through.

"Katniss, you're wanted in training." Haymitch's blunt, no nonsense voice filtered through the speakers.

"Now?"

"Now." A high pitch squeal of static followed his simple reply, and Katniss turned back to Peeta.

"I have to go."

"What are you training for?"

"I'm leaving. Going to Two."

His brow furrowed in confusion, and he scratched absently at his head. "Two?"

"The Mountain," Katniss said quickly. "Or The Nut, as we're calling it now. Gale and a few others have been thinking up some plans to help try and defeat it. I'm going there to do some propos, while they're still brainstorming."

"Gale Hawthorne...the Rebellion contact in Twelve who got whipped?"

The words were said glibly, simply, with no knowledge of the association of Katniss to Gale - but his lack of knowledge didn't make it any easier to hear. Katniss bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood, let out a strangled yelp.  _He couldn't remember her, but he could remember Gale? Could remember him being whipped? Could remember_ _he_   _was a part of the Rebellion, but she was_ _nothing_ _?_

"Are you okay?" She could hear the concern in his voice; but it was nothing but the generic concern of one stranger to another. Not the concern of a lover.

She clenched her jaw. "I'm fine."

"No you're not. Tell me what was wrong with what I said."

"I need to go."

His eyes flashed. " _No_ , they can wait. Tell me what just happened."

"I-" She broke off, shook her head. "I just don't understand. Gale is my friend - we helped recruit him into the Rebellion. And you can remember  _him_...but not me. How is that even fair? How have they been able to do this? Gale is in there, but not me? Just... _how?_ " She knew they were questions he couldn't answer, but she didn't care. She had to ask them anyway.

"I don't know. I don't know." He dropped his head, rested it in his hands. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "I wish I did, but I don't. I just have nothing of you, at all. I'm sorry."

She rose to her feet, wanting desperately to get out of there before she did something stupid like cry in front of him. Because she was so close to it, knew the tears were pricking at the back of her eyes, threatening to overspill. "You know, he stayed at my house while he recovered, not only because it meant he was close to my Mom and Prim for treatment, but also because I blamed  _myself_. I was supposed to see go and see him the morning he got whipped, to tell him not to go into the woods anymore. But I was late. Too late. And it was because I was with you." With another shake of her head, she stalked towards the door, barely avoiding tripping over her own feet in her hurry.

"Katniss."

She turned again, one hand on the small buzzer that would open the door for her, and swallowed back the lump in her throat. "Yeah?"

"Just one more question? Please?"

She nodded, reluctantly, and his cheeks immediately flushed; he looked away, fixing his gaze on the grey blanket covering his bed.

"I'm sorry that I have to ask this. But you said we were together. In the morning. Did we, um...were we ever, uh... _together_  together?"

She felt her heart squeeze until she thought it would stop, waited for him to finally look back at her before she nodded. She didn't want to talk about this, knowing that both Haymitch and Aurelius were likely watching. But she had no choice - he had to know. "Yeah. We were," she finally murmured. "In the Capitol, on the roof of the Training Centre. The night before I went into the Games. And I'm sorry you have to ask too."

She walked out without another word, ignored Peeta's pained exhalation, and the looks of sympathy from Haymitch and Aurelius as she walked past them. She headed straight to the training facilities and away from what was so obviously her past, and not her future.

* * *

She trained, and trained hard. Practiced with her bow and arrow, tried to get familiar with using a gun, though she still didn't like the feeling of it in her hands. She silently sat in the Conference Room while Gale and Beetee and a few others discussed options of what they could do when they arrived in Two to try and take The Nut. She spent time with Prim, and her mother, discussed with Plutarch and Cressida what their plans were for her propos when she arrived.

Within the three days Coin had promised, Katniss and a small team from Thirteen were on their way to Two.

She didn't see Peeta again before she left.

* * *

Peeta studied his photos until he was certain they were embedded in his brain - images of Katniss in the sun, on a Victor stage, a lonely figure on a deserted beach. They left him confused, empty, melancholy; wishing that he had even the slightest remnant of memory so that he didn't feel like a stranger in his  _own_  life. Other photos - ones of Snow, of the Capitol, early shots of the Control Room - all turned his stomach, made him wish that  _those_  were the parts he couldn't remember.

It took him another three days before he agreed to meet with Dr Aurelius again, where they did nothing but sit in his room, silence filling the hour. When he was told that Katniss had left for Two, he felt nothing, then immediately felt guilty because he figured he was supposed to feel  _something_.

Two days later, Primrose Everdeen walked into his room unannounced and outlined a proposal she had. For people with memories of he and Katniss together to share them with him, while he was under something called  _hypnosis_ , accompanied by a slight dose of tracker jacker venom in the hopes it could trigger something, or help to reverse whatever the Capitol had done to him.

" _You don't know that the memories are entirely gone," she'd said softly, in a way that told him she had the bedside manner suitable for a doctor. "Maybe they're just hidden, hidden so deep that we just have to try and dig them out."_

At first he'd declined, decided there was no point. He'd already gone through enough, of people playing with his mind, putting him in a sleep deep enough that they could amend what was in his head into something unfamiliar. But in the end, the feeling of emptiness, of not being whole, of knowing something was missing, was enough to get him to change his mind.

The following week, he had his first session.

* * *

"You had dinner at our house."

He nodded slowly. "I remember that. Haymitch was there, and the Hawthornes, and the Mayor's daughter. It was before…" He trailed off, confusion clear on his face. "Before the Victory Tour. My head's telling me I was in Eleven then, but that memory is so clear to me that it was at that time."

"Because it was," Prim said calmly, folding her legs in front of her, the skirts of her grey nursing trainee uniform tucked under her knees. They were in one of the observation rooms, seated across from each other on twin beds. An IV was already inserted into Peeta's arm, the venom ready to be injected any moment. Aurelius was running behind, and while they waited, Prim had already started to share some of her memories, though he'd quickly reminded her to keep some for when he was under. "We'd planned the farewell dinner for a long time, but I invited you the day we were holding it. Katniss wasn't too happy that I invited you."

"Because I was from the Capitol?" he guessed, tried not to scratch at the skin where the IV was inserted.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Prim's mouth. "Well, yes...but also because she liked you and she didn't want to."

He rested his elbow on his knee. "She told you that?"

"No. But Katniss doesn't always need to tell me things for me to know." She picked at a bit of invisible lint on her skirt. "You and Haymitch sat on the porch and talked, while Gale and Madge played chess. During dinner, Gale was being a rude idiot-"

Peeta laughed - he couldn't help it - and watched as Prim blushed. "Well it's true," she said, her tone a reflection of her name. "He was."

"Sorry, I'm sorry." Dr Aurelius bustled through the door, flustered and frazzled, his white jacket flapping around his body with his quick movements. He headed straight for the machine on the side table that controlled the IV. "My apologies Mr Mellark, Junior Nurse Everdeen, I got caught up with another patient."

"That's okay, we were just chatting," Prim said with a smile.

"Good, good," Aurelius mused, checking over the stats on the machine. "I won't waste any more of your time - shall we get started immediately?"

"Sure," Peeta agreed, unfolded his legs so that he was laying down on his back and stretched out his arm, waited for Aurelius to activate the venom.

"Now just to confirm, Peeta, we'll be injecting the venom, and as that's working through your bloodstream, I'll begin the process to take you into a state of hypnosis. Once I'm happy with your progress, Junior Nurse Everdeen will begin to relay some of her memories of you with Katniss Everdeen. Afterwards, you will remember everything that occurs during this time. Are you still okay with this process?"

He swallowed nervously. "Yes."

Aurelius nodded, quickly glanced at Prim before giving Peeta a small, reassuring smile. He lowered himself down into a chair placed in between both beds. "Alright, I want you to listen to, and focus on, my voice right now. You're in a safe place, and we're not here to harm you. Let's pretend you're in a quiet meadow, and it's warm and sunny - you can't help but feel relaxed. There's a stream of water, and it's running gently, the play of water over the rocks soothing and calming. You can feel all the tension leaving your body - your feet are relaxed, your calves, your hips..."

Peeta felt his mind slowly begin to drift, felt the tension in his body doing exactly what Aurelius was saying. He felt as light as a feather, like he was floating, and he happily closed his eyes, allowing it to take him away. He was already under when the venom began to slide through his veins.

* * *

The next couple of weeks flew by. When Peeta wasn't in the medical ward going through another round of hypnosis, or wandering the halls taking photos, he was spending hours making a cake in Thirteen's kitchens for the impending Odair-Cresta wedding, with ingredients and tools that would have been sub-par in his family's eyes, but in his, were perfect for what he needed them for. He created waves the colour of Finnick's eyes, fishing nets the colour of Annie's hair, boats that he remembered seeing with his own eyes when he visited on Victory Tours or Reaping Days. It was bigger and more delicate than anything he'd ever made when working in  _Mellark's_ , and he knew there wasn't anything he'd ever made that he'd been prouder of.

Finnick spent most of his time with Annie, planning a wedding no one had expected to occur, while Johanna ensconced herself in her room, rarely coming out. Cressida and Plutarch and the crew were in Two filming propos, while Haymitch spent hours in Thirteen's control room, connecting in with Katniss and Boggs remotely. Which meant that on the occasions when he sought out someone to speak to, it was mostly Prim he went to. She was the only one he felt semi-familiar with, the only one who he felt he'd come to know better since he'd arrived - and that alone made it all the more harder for him to pretend that the hypnosis sessions were helping. Because they weren't. Katniss was still as much of a stranger to him as the first moment he'd opened his eyes in Thirteen. Except now, he just had a head full of other peoples memories.

And from what he'd heard, the attack on The Nut was just as unsuccessful as his treatments.

Three weeks had passed since Katniss and Boggs had left, and two since Gale and Beetee had followed with their list of proposed actions. But from the snippets of conversations Peeta had carefully listened in on around the medical ward, every plan they'd thought of had been shot down by the commanding team in Two, and nothing had come close to being put into play since. Fighting continued every day, with no end in sight.

He knew the commander in Two, knew that Lyme - an ex-Victor herself, and a passionate member of the Rebellion - was an expert on her District, inside and out. Whatever they'd proposed to her, Peeta knew that she'd have had a good reason for opposing them. He just hoped that they'd think of something, and soon.

They couldn't go on like this forever.

* * *

" _They've bombed The Nut!"_

" _It's caused avalanches!"_

" _They're waiting to see if anyone survived, if the old mining trains come out of the tunnels!"_

" _How could anyone come out of that alive?!"_

The shouts and exclamations followed Peeta as he ran down the halls towards the Control Room, where he knew Haymitch was still holed up. He'd been in the dining hall, eating a meagre dinner with Johanna, silence the primary conversation between them, when he'd heard the first whispered conversation that something had happened in Two. Until the whispers had become murmurs, and the murmurs had become loud proclamations of success against the Capitol. And he'd left his dinner there, half eaten, and headed for one of the few places he'd yet to be granted access to.

He turned the final corner at a sprint, and at the first sight of Peeta, the guard at the door stood to attention, shook his head before Peeta even had the chance to open his mouth. "Sorry, sir, only authorised personnel allowed."

"But I'm part of the Rebellion!" he protested. "I'm Peeta Mellark, I'm from the Ca-"

"I know who you are, sir, and I'm still not allowed to grant you access."

"If Plutarch was here he'd-"

"Plutarch Heavensbee holds no sway here, Civilian."

Peeta flung his arms out at his sides. "I want to speak to President Coin."

"President Coin is indisposed."

"Then I want to speak to her Next in Command."

"Sir, I don't want to have to tell you a-"

The door suddenly slid open, and Haymitch's head popped out, frustration clear on his face. "Oh for fucks sake, Gardner, let the kid in."

The guard glowered. "But Pres-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll deal with Coin if she has an issue." He wrapped a hand around Peeta's forearm, dragged him inside, the door sliding shut swiftly behind him. "That exchange was amusing for about five seconds."

Peeta looked at him in confusion. "How-"

"Entrance is monitored, kid," Haymitch interrupted, waving a hand absently towards a small screen just beside the door where Gardner, the guard, appeared to still be annoyed at being overruled. He crossed the room and slumped down into a black leather chair. "Now sit down and take a seat, and tell me what's got your panties in such a twist that you needed to get into here right now."

Peeta dropped into the empty chair beside Haymitch, the rest already occupied by men and women monitoring individual screens filled with images of what vaguely looked like Two. "I heard some rumours in the dining hall. That The Nut got bombed."

Haymitch nodded absently and slipped a headset over his head, shifted the attached mic so that it sat right in front of his mouth. "That's right, it did. We're waiting to see if there are any survivors, but at the moment, there's still a lot of fighting going on. Peacekeepers trying to regain some ground, and retake the train station we currently have control of. There's not much you can do from here, trust me."

"It doesn't matter," Peeta assured him. "I just want to be in here, feel as though I'm a part of it. I've felt removed from the Rebellion ever since I arrived. I just feel  _useless_."

Haymitch tipped his head, studied Peeta for a moment before nodding his head. "Alright, you can stay. It's gonna be boring, though, warning you now. I'm just gonna be sitting here, watching this footage until something possibly happens."

Peeta nodded swiftly, settled himself into the chair more comfortably. "Then that's what I'll do too."

* * *

" _You won't lose me, Katniss, I promise."_

" _How can you be so sure?"_

" _Because I am, alright? Now say it again. Please? Just for me."_

" _I love you, Peeta."_

" _And I love you, Katniss, and that won't ever change."_

* * *

He jolted from sleep, his heart racing, his body thrumming oddly from the dream he'd been yanked from. He couldn't grasp it, not clearly, not completely, and it was almost like it was slipping through his fingers like smoke even while he tried to capture it. Whatever it was, whatever it had been, he knew one thing - that it had been good.

He just wished he could remember what it was.

Cricking his neck, and sitting up in his chair, he watched as Haymitch spoke quietly into his headset, their eyes catching each others.

"Everything alright?" Peeta mouthed.

Haymitched nodded, flicked a switch on the headset. "Yeah. Just...we need to do something - nothing is changing out there, and we're done with it. I just spoke to Cressida, she's going to get it started." He smirked as Peeta yawned. "Nice sleep?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Peeta replied, shamefaced. "I must have zonked out."

"You didn't miss anything," Haymitch assured him, then sat to attention as a sound echoed from his headset; he flicked the mic on again. His eyes were trained on the screens that took up the majority of the wall, and Peeta recognised the spotlit Justice Building of District Two. "I know you're not going to like this, but we need you to make a speech."

Peeta's gaze swivelled back to Haymitch, ready to immediately question him, when he realised it wasn't  _him_  that Haymitch was speaking to. It was Katniss, via remote, in Two.

The next five minutes were a flurry of activity in the control room as Haymitch continued to speak to Katniss, telling her that she needed to speak to the people, to motivate them, to bring the fighting to a close. Peeta watched on the screen as she slowly moved out to a position on the front steps of the Justice Building, the lights bright and blinding in what he knew was the middle of the night. And within seconds of her identifying herself and calling out to the people of Two, trains from inside The Nut squealed into the station, people in various states of distress and injury pouring out of the cars.

It seemed like it happened in an instant - shots were fired, lights went out, flares were released, guns were waved menacingly in the air. But Peeta didn't notice any of it. The only thing he saw was the man on his knees with a scorched cheek, and a gun trained unflinchingly on Katniss. And watched, in surprise, as Katniss refused to surrender. Instead, she opened her mouth, and told him she couldn't think of a reason why he  _shouldn't_  shoot her.

Her reply almost shocked the man into silence.

The speech that followed was impassioned, as Katniss reminded people who the real enemy was, as she pled for people to put down their weapons and unite against the Capitol, against Snow. She threw down her bow and arrow, and sunk to her knees, reminded them that she was from a mining district herself. She told them that she was nothing but a piece in the Capitol's games, that they were  _all_ just a piece in their games - and she was tired of it. Tired of doing what Snow wanted her, and all of them, to do.

Pride, in the Rebellion, in her words and - inexplicably - in  _her,_ rose in his chest, and Peeta found himself slowly rising to his feet, unable to take his eyes off the screen. She looked magnificent, he realised, and it had nothing to do with looks.

It had everything to do with  _her_.

For a moment, he was certain they were safe, that there wasn't going to be any more gunfire or fighting. That Two would finally be taken without any more blood being shed. And then, just when her final words rang in the air, a single shot echoed, and he watched her slump to the ground, unmoving.

He couldn't have stopped the guttural yell of horror that fell from his lips if he'd tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments. I know it's been awhile since the last chapter, but participating in PiP on tumblr, RL shenanigans, and a little bout of illness put me a bit behind. But we're entering the final straight now, and there's not long to go :)
> 
> I love to chat with other fans of THG and Everlark - you can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings.


	26. Chapter 26

Katniss watched them dance, a small but pained smile on her face, and shifted in her seat until she found a position where her ribs wouldn't ache. Around her, others danced and sang, continued to eat more food than most of them had ever eaten in one sitting. Music echoed through the cafeteria, songs she remembered from Twelve, other she didn't recognise at all. Above it all, winding its way around the room, was a sense of joy, of hope, of celebration.

She hadn't thought she'd be here for this - or that she'd necessarily want to be - but watching Finnick and Annie gaze into each other's eyes as husband and wife, she realised that she was glad she was.

Even if she'd had to get shot to attend.

It had been two weeks since The Nut had blown, two weeks since she'd been shot live in front of the nation. It hadn't killed her - not like she'd thought it would when she felt the bullet pierce her flesh and dig in deep - but had simply ruptured her spleen.

She hadn't even known what a spleen was until she didn't have one anymore.

They'd flown her back to Thirteen immediately - Boggs, Gale, Beetee, Plutarch and his crew in tow - leaving Lyme, the Commander in Two, in charge of the finally captured district. In the time since, they'd primarily sequestered her in the medical ward, dulling her pain with morphling that Johanna would often sneak in and pilfer straight from the IV.

Katniss had realised that the fellow Victor's nightmares weren't getting any better, and morphling was her only relief. Giving her the drug was the least Katniss could do - she knew herself what the nightmares could be like, how they could feel like they were taking over your life. She could only imagine how much worse Johanna's were right now.

"Katniss? Will you dance with me?"

Katniss took her eyes away from Finnick and Annie, and glanced next to her to Prim, who looked up at her hopefully. It sometimes amazed her how grown up her sister had become, how the girl in front of her was no longer little with the tail of a shirt sticking out of her skirt, but instead a teenager with one braid instead of two, a full belly and the hope of a future beyond the Seam.

"I don't know," Katniss replied hesitantly. "My body is kinda sore right now. Plus...my nurse told me to take it easy," she teased, throwing her sister's own medical advice back to her.

Prim grinned. "I won't tell the nurse if you don't. Plus I promise I won't hurt you," she assured, and then her smile dimmed slightly. "Just a short one, please? It's been so long since..." She trailed off, and Katniss knew she didn't need to say anything more. It had been a long time since any of them had had anything to dance about - Katniss couldn't remember the last time there had been dancing in District Twelve. And the last time she'd danced herself... Well, that had been on the Victory Tour, and that brought her nothing but bittersweet memories of Peeta and anger towards Snow.

She needed something better to think about than either of those.

"Okay then Little Duck, let's do it," Katniss agreed before she could talk herself out of it, and, slowly rose to her feet. She allowed Prim to take her hand in hers, and lead them over to where dozens of people were doing a livelier step than she'd ever be able to do, injured or otherwise. It was awkward at first, swaying to her own beat that was definitely not the one being played, but in the end Prim began to swing her arms in exaggerated motions and spin around in front of her, allowing Katniss to look like she was dancing more than she actually was. And she laughed, long and loud, not even caring that her body ached with every breath.

It felt like she was laughing for the first time in months. Maybe years.

And it felt good.

* * *

 

Peeta sat next to Cressida and Castor, a smile on his face and a drink in his hand as he watched his friends dance together. Finnick looked more alive than Peeta had ever seen him, the love for Annie he'd had to keep hidden for so long finally able to burst forth. In his eyes, Finnick could finally be the man he'd wanted to be for so long. The carefully cultivated Capitol persona he'd had to adopt had slipped away, leaving only the Finnick Peeta had gladly come to know.

As for Annie...Peeta knew she would likely never entirely recover from her time in the Capitol. She'd already suffered from her own Games, and he'd known it had been difficult for her to be Finnick and Mags' mentor during the Quell. She'd muttered about it long into the night while they'd been imprisoned, and Peeta had listened as she'd told no one in particular how people had offered her lavish sponsor gifts for Finnick in exchange for a night with him after he won.

Peeta had known she'd been clueless as to what Finnick had been forced to do over these years, but now she wasn't so oblivious. Or immune to it herself.

But for the first time, they could finally be together, with no fear of repercussions, and Peeta knew that would make all the difference in the world. And right now, with his own frustrations and confusion and annoyance coursing through him at how much he felt like he was being maligned and forgotten by his own allies, that knowledge alone was all he needed to prove that the Rebellion would be worth it. No matter how much - or, more correctly, how little - Coin allowed him to be involved.

Shaking his head to bring himself back to the present, he glanced around the room, and the combination of Capitolites, refugees from Twelve and the inhabitants from Thirteen. A mixed group of people, all here for that one cause.

And then he saw her across the room, dancing awkwardly with her sister.

* * *

 

_The monitor echoed - beep beep beep - in time with each beat of his heart, reminding him so much of the time he'd watched over Mags in hospital after her stroke. The monitor itself didn't tell him much, other than that she was alive, but he supposed he hadn't really come here for answers._

_He still wasn't entirely sure why he was here anyway._

_He studied her freely - no awkward pauses where he'd feel guilty or creepy for looking at her - and took in this young woman who'd stood in front of a loaded gun and virtually told a man to shoot. And while the man himself hadn't - the shot had come from further away, someone with an untrained eye and less experience with a gun than he would have needed for a kill shot - the fact that Katniss Everdeen hadn't flinched away told him more than anything anyone had told him in one of his sessions._

_She had courage. And strength. And even if she hadn't wanted to be this Mockingjay that they called her, it was a role he was certain only she could have played in the Rebellion._

_She looked pale and drawn on the white hospital bed, her eyes closed but the eyelids flickering as she dreamt in her sleep. Her dark hair twisted simply over her shoulder, the braid fashioned by Prim, and he hesitantly reached a hand out to lightly touch the curled end._

_"Peeta."_

_He snatched his hand back, swivelled in his seat to see Haymitch behind him. The old Mentor's face was wan and tired - no liquor meant severe withdrawal - and he folded his arms across his chest._

_"What?"_

_"What are you doing here?"_

_Peeta opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was no point in making something up - Haymitch wasn't one for bullshit. "I don't know," he replied honestly._

_"You've been coming in every day since she got back here."_

_He felt his back stiffen defensively. "So?"_

_Haymitch sighed,scratched at his chin. "Kid, I'm just trying to understand. You don't know her, don't remember her, yet you're here. Why?"_

_Peeta clenched his fist in his lap, glanced down at the ground. "I don't know," he repeated. If he understood it himself, maybe he'd feel better about it. "I just...feel like I have to."_

_Haymitch moved around him so that he was seated in the chair on the other side of the bed. Katniss, prone and unconscious, lay between them. "Alright. Do you think those sessions with Blondie are helping?"_

_"What?"_

_"Don't know why you're here? Let's try and figure it out, by starting with whether you think those sessions are helping."_

_Peeta shrugged, eyed the man warily. It took him a few moments to decide whether to say what was on the tip of his tongue, until he realised whether he said it or not, it didn't matter. What would it change anyway? "I'm not sure if it's working. I don't know what's real and what's not."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"You really want to know?"_

_Haymitch rolled his eyes. "Geez, just humour me, kid."_

_Peeta ran his tongue across the front of his teeth, focused his gaze on the white bedsheets. "Fine. I get told things about Katniss; about me, about us. And now I have all these memories in my head - but I think they're just other people's memories and impressions. I don't know if any of them are actually mine."_

_"Then run one of them by me."_

_Peeta looked up, narrowed his eyes. "Huh?"_

_"Tell me one of these memories, and I'll see if I can tell you if someone has told it to you."_

_"How would you know?"_

_"A, surveillance here is prime, remember? Plus, B, there were some instances, kid, when you were alone without anyone else there. Or do you think you kissed her only when people were around?"_

_"Alright, fine," Peeta agreed stiffly. He shifted in his seat until he felt less awkward. "There's one...where we're on a beach. Sitting under a jetty, I think it's one in Four. I told Katniss that I had to stop seeing her, that it was too dangerous. And she was angry, so angry. Her eyes would have seared me alive if they could have. She stormed off up the beach, and she locked herself in her room for days afterwards. She wouldn't speak to me."_

_Haymitch eyed him carefully. "Alright. I can tell you that no one here has shared that story with you here."_

_"I knew it."_

_"But I know it's true."_

_Peeta blinked. "What?"_

_"It's true."_

_"How do you know? Were you there?"_

_"No, I wasn't. But I had to deal with her moods for days after that, and I reamed the shit out of you a few days later about it. It was just before the Reaping."_

_Peeta glanced back down at his lap, rubbed at his brow with his forefinger and thumb. He remembered that day, remembered it explicitly. Hearing the names of his friends and allies be called to go back into the Arena. Feeling it hit him like a sucker punch. "So that's real."_

_"Of course it's real. Unless you can tell me some other way you think it got into your brain." Haymitch leant back in his seat, lifted his arms so his hands were linked behind his head. "You might not think those sessions are working, kid, but they are. Somehow. And while you might not remember her the way you should, it's coming back to you. Even if it is in dreams, and fits and starts."_

_Peeta lifted his gaze slightly so he could trail it down the smooth, olive skin of Katniss' arm, the way her fingers played against the white sheet in her sleep, as though searching for something to grasp. She still didn't look familiar to him - nothing more than a girl he'd met in Thirteen weeks before - but there was something there. He knew there was. There had to be._

_There wasn't any other reason for him to be there if there wasn't._

* * *

 

"The cake, my friend, was marvellous." He felt Finnick's hand slap across his back, and Peeta glanced up in time to see him slide into the seat next to him. Cressida and Castor were nowhere to be seen.

"I'm glad you liked it," Peeta said simply.

"Liked it? It was amazing. Best cake I've ever had, and I've eaten at _Mellark's_ before."

"And my mother played off that first visit for a good six months," Peeta reminded him wryly, hating the memory of Deliah Mellark fawning over Finnick in the overly false way she had about her. "You became the marketing budget she didn't even have to fork out for."

Finnick shrugged, picked up Peeta's glass and took a deep swallow of water. "I got used to your Mother, she was nothing compared to some people. Oh, and by the way, Plutarch wanted his crew to look over some of the footage from tonight," Finnick said, before Peeta could ask of his companions whereabouts. "They told you before they left, but you seemed a million miles away." Peeta simultaneously flushed, and screwed up his nose in distaste.

"I still can't believe Plutarch is going to use footage from tonight as a propo." It wasn't something that had sat well with Peeta when Finnick had told him Plutarch's plan - host an elaborate (or as elaborate as Thirteen could get) wedding, and broadcast it on every channel they could across Panem, to show President Snow that nothing would stop them, and to show the Rebels that hope was strong and a free future was imminent - but most everyone else had been willing to go along. Peeta just didn't like the idea of his friends being exploited any more than they already had been.

"I know you don't like it," Finnick acknowledged, placing the glass back on the table. "Regardless of whether Plutarch uses the footage or not, it doesn't matter to me. I just wanted to marry Annie. It felt like a small price to pay to finally be able to call her my wife, you know?"

"No, I don't really, not personally," Peeta murmured, his gaze almost unwillingly moving back to Katniss. "But I can understand what you're saying."

Finnick sighed, then followed Peeta's line of direction. "Have you spoken to her since she got back?"

"To say what?"

"I don't know. Hi? How's your injury? _Anything_?"

"I..." Peeta trailed off, glanced back at Finnick. "I visit her when she's sleeping."

"What? When?"

Peeta felt the faint sting of embarrassment. "Every day, while you guys are training to invade the Capitol and I'm left behind to be nothing more than a test subject." He said the last part bitterly - he'd fought many times over the last few weeks to be allowed to join the ranks, to be allowed to train and then go and fight on the front lines. Every request had been bluntly shut down by Coin. He had no idea why.

Finnick's eyes widened. "So you remember her then?"

"No."

The look in Finnick's eyes moved into confusion, the brows shades darker than his bronze hair drawing together. "Then why-"

"I don't know," Peeta interjected. "I already had this discussion with Haymitch. He seems to think that the sessions with Prim and Dr Aurelius are working, subconsciously at least."

"Maybe they are." Finnick couldn't hide the excitement in his voice, even though Peeta could tell he tried to. "This is good news!"

Peeta shrugged. "I suppose so. If the sessions are working, maybe it means they'll finally let me go to Two, help with the overtaking of the Capitol."

"That's not what I meant," Finnick said firmly. "I meant about you and Katniss."

"There still isn't a 'me and Katniss'," Peeta replied quietly. "Just because I might have memories surfacing doesn't mean anything. I don't have enough of a tangible connection to her to think of us in that way."

"But...do you _want_ there to be a tangible connection?"

Peeta looked across the room, back to where a giggling Prim was leading Katniss - breath heavy and sweat pearling on her brow even as she had a smile on her face - back to their table. "I just want to be me," he finally said. "I don't want to be a piece in Snow's games, and until I know for sure who I was before, I am. So...maybe."

Right now, it was the best he could give.

_Maybe._

* * *

 

"No, Soldier Everdeen. You're not well enough to travel, nor are you well enough to represent the Rebellion in a battle or fighting situation."

Coin's tone was firm and cold, and she stared blandly up at Katniss from her place at the head of the conference table.

Katniss scowled, slapped her hand on the smooth tabletop. "But I want to go. I _need_ to go. You _wanted_ me to go to Two - why is this any different? Don't you think of everyone, I deserve to go?"

It felt like the thousandth time she'd had this argument with Coin in the last week, and she still wasn't getting anywhere. Everyone else - Finnick, Gale, people she didn't recognize, even _Johanna_ , had been training while she'd been recovering from her bullet wound and surgery in the medical ward, as plans had been changed and made and put into place of storming the Capitol. Firearm training increased, hand to hand combat training was a day to day occurrence, studies began of street maps of the Capitol and its security systems, simulation fight scenarios were set in holographically recreated streets and suburbs of the Capitol to test the instincts of the newly trained 'soldiers'. Katniss wanted to be one of them.

But Coin didn't, and her backflip from her obvious desire for Katniss to go to Two was confusing. Every time Katniss thought she had the woman pegged, she'd do something that made absolutely no sense.

"I think we all have a case of deserving to go," Coin replied, her voice level. "Your injuries prevent you, nothing more, nothing less."

_What a load of shit._

"Then pump me even more full of morphling and put me out there. You continue to call me a Soldier, President Coin, let me be one."

"Must I remind you that you got shot live, for all the nation to see?"

"And do they know I'm not dead? Do they know your Mockingjay might have been shot, but is still alive and well, and _wanting_ to fight?" Katniss could hear the vague hysterical note to her voice, tried to rein it in. "You keep looking for people to join the fight, to 'Join the Mockingjay'. Isn't that what all of Plutarch's propos call people to do?! How can they join me if I'm not even fighting myself?" She turned her piercing gaze to the Gamemaker who sat silently beside the President, his head buried in his tablet. "Plutarch, I should be out there, shouldn't I?"

Plutarch looked up, his eyes sliding over to Coin before looking back at Katniss apologetically. "I'm sorry, Miss Everdeen. This is the President's call."

"Let her go."

Turning, Katniss saw Boggs - silent, still, always watching, always taking everything in - in the corner, his arms folded behind his back. "Let her go." He repeated. "I'll be responsible for her."

"She's not ready, Commander Boggs." Coin's voice was clipped, angry. It was obvious that she didn't like being overruled by one of her own.

The shake of his head was almost non existent, but it was there. "I think she has everything that she needs. Give her a higher dose of morphling, and send her back to training. She'll do us more good there, inspiring the troops, than what she will here."

Coin let out an almost imperceptible hiss of annoyance, her lips firming in a straight line. The silence that followed was heavy, full of annoyance and obstinance. "Fine," Coin finally conceded, though her eyes told a story far from being happy about the decision. "Put her with Jackson and Hawthorne, and make sure she's ready to ship out with everyone else in two weeks. If she's not, then she stays here, and that's the last I hear of it."

"Thank you, President Coin," Katniss said gratefully. Coin glared at her with all the annoyance she could muster.

"Don't thank me yet, Soldier Everdeen."

* * *

 

Three days later, Peeta joined the training ranks as well.

He wasn't in the same group as she was - he trained with Finnick, and a man named Homes, and twins that Katniss still couldn't tell apart who she just referred to as Leeg 1 and Leeg 2 for convenience - while she trained with Johanna and Gale, a quiet man called Mitchell and a tough looking woman named Jackson who didn't take shit from anybody. Boggs watched over them all with a concentrated eye, his body always alert and tense.

But Peeta was there, and with each day, she watched as his body grew stronger, as he got more competent with a gun, as the desperation in his eyes that she'd seen in the medical ward slowly began to drift away.

She knew from Haymitch and Finnick that they had fought for his inclusion, knew that Coin had been opposed to it every time it had been brought up. Katniss wasn't entirely sure why - other than Plutarch, Peeta probably had the most intimate knowledge of the City Circle and the Mansion - but part of her wondered if Coin simply enjoyed exerting her right and power over everything she could, whenever she could. It was the only conclusion she'd been able to come to about Coin's original decision not to send her on the latest mission. Having hundreds of new people in her control had probably shifted the balance a little - especially those from the Capitol, who weren't used to hearing no for an answer - and she would take any chance she could to reassert herself.

But apparently allowing Katniss to join had finally changed her stance on Peeta as well.

Commander Lyme had continued to oversee Two, The Nut now completely within the control of the rebels. Troops - as Plutarch called them - moved in from various Districts, waiting at the base of it before that final push. Thirteen's representatives would be travelling there within days via hovercraft, and then it was all or nothing. It was overpower Snow, and the Capitol - or they'd go down trying.

Two days later, in a Capitol street simulation, Johanna got caught in a flood that engulfed the holographic streets, and went straight back into the medical ward, and off the list of those going to the Capitol. Her desire to take down Snow for what he'd done to her had been derailed exactly by what had been done to her. She'd heard the murmurs of Johanna's torture as much as what she'd heard of Annie's.

She couldn't blame the Victor for her reaction to being almost drowned again.

Stretching out slowly on her bed - her muscles aching and contracting with the movement, her body still not completely healed from her gunshot, and worn down by constant training - Katniss glanced up at the ceiling, wondered if she was passing the invisible tests she knew Coin was still judging her by. She'd never worked harder - not even when she'd been training with Haymitch to go back into the Arena - and she knew she'd work harder still if it meant she wouldn't be left behind.

If there was one thing she was going to do to end this war, it was going to be killing Snow. She just hadn't told anyone that yet.

* * *

 

The hum was barely audible, a slight quiver in the air the only indication that they were flying at breakneck speeds. Everything else was deathly silent - not a word was uttered, not a machine beeped, not a chair squeaked. Everyone knew where they were going, and any frivolity had been left behind in Thirteen, with friends, family and loved ones.

The hovercraft was full, of soldiers, of commanders, of the film crew that were accompanying them to Two and into the Capitol. For the Rebellion. For what was, essentially, the last stand.

Katniss didn't know if they were all ready - Thirteen may have been training for this for years, but what of the refugees from Twelve, the new soldiers from other Districts who would never have thought they'd be preparing for a war? Days or weeks or months of training just weren't enough. Though, when she thought about it, when was anyone ever completely prepared for a war? If it was anything like an Arena, they could do all the training, all the sponsor lobbying, all the studying and planning they wanted. But the minute you stepped into it, it was unpredictable and unexpected. Maybe there really was no difference between a day's training and a year's.

But the level of experience those on board had wasn't what was on her mind the most as they flew towards Two. It was the bitter blow she'd been dealt, the one that she thought was going to make it even harder for her to reach Snow, and fulfill her promise to herself. To Katniss' disgust, annoyance and frustration, she wasn't going to the battlefront. She was going to be nothing more than a propo. And so were those closest to her.

None of them were happy about it.

Coin had announced it two days earlier, to a shocked group who had been under the impression they were going to war, that they were going to the front to storm the Capitol. Instead, the President of Thirteen had stood at the front of the group in the training hall, and had told them they were part of an elite group - a squadron whose task it was to go ahead and sneak in through the back streets of the Capitol, back streets that had already been cleared of any security measures - to film propos to send out to the rebels, to show the advancing stages of war, and their increasing chance of success. _Give them some hope, give them something to fight for,_ Coin had said, _while distracting the Capitol from the fact that our soldiers will be attacking from another angle. They'll be watching you, the Mockingjay, not us._

It had taken long enough, but Coin had finally revealed her plan for Katniss.

 _Bait_.

After the announcement, they'd no longer trained with the rest of the soldiers. Katniss and Finnick's groups had merged into one, and with the addition of Boggs as well as Cressida and her crew - cameramen Castor and Pollux, and her assistant Messala - they had officially been tagged as Star Squad 451. They spent their remaining time in Thirteen studying the simulation street maps that were dotted with brightly coloured lights, each one indicating an individual security measure.

 _Pods_ , Plutarch called them, and it sounded like such a friendly term for what was nothing more than a killing tool.

The pods were like landmines, carefully crafted and hidden in the simplest of items as a security measure - _a booby trap,_ as Boggs had referred to it. They were set up all across the Capitol, and thanks to intel Plutarch had pilfered before his escape, they knew the basic layout of where the pods where located, for every part of the city centre and its surrounds. He admitted there had likely been changes to the location of some pods - after all, it had been months since the liberation of the Victors from the Arena, and by now Snow would be well aware of the intel that had been compromised. But it was close enough, and Plutarch had announced that the areas that they would access had already been fully swept by comrades from Two and Three. They were safe. They were clear.

At his words, Katniss had looked at Finnick and Haymitch across the simulated map, and knew they were thinking the same as she was.

This was nothing more than another Arena. And nothing was ever safe or clear.

* * *

 

_"Hey sweetheart."_

_Katniss felt the hand rest heavily on her shoulder, just before she was about to take the first step up the gangplank into the hovercraft. She turned to see Haymitch behind her, grey eyes tired and concerned. Not only had he unwillingly dried out in Thirteen, but he'd worked. Constantly. Keeping an eye on her. Making plans. Brushing aside plans he thought were stupid. Calling people out on their shit._

_She didn't blame him for looking tired._

_"Yeah?" She moved away from the gangplank, allowing others to pass by and board._

_"I just...wanted to tell you to be careful out there."_

_She allowed a small smile to creep across her lips. "Worried about me?"_

_"It's my job to make sure you come out alive," he said simply, though she knew it was more than that. "Plus, you know, you have to come back for Blondie. She'll kill me if you don't."_

_Katniss shook her head slowly. No, she knew how much the crotchety Mentor had come to mean to her sister in the last year. He'd be close to all she'd have left if she didn't survive. "Prim wouldn't do that. She'd need you. And anyway, I probably won't see any action, not with being in the 'Star Squad'." She rolled her eyes. "I won't be anywhere near anything. Of course I'll come back alive." Maybe. Possibly. It all depended on how successful she was with attempting to kill Snow._

_"Good," he said firmly. She didn't know whether he believed her or not, and it didn't matter. Right now, pretending for both of them was good enough. "And, uh, you should keep an eye on the boy too, while you're out there. Peeta."_

_At his name, Katniss automatically looked towards the gangplank she knew Peeta had already walked up, then back at Haymitch. "There isn't much I can do there, Haymitch," she murmured. "We haven't spoken in weeks. There isn't anything between us anymore. It's done."_

_"Bullshit," he snapped, then sighed. "Sorry. But just...do me the favour, okay? Keep an eye on him. He has friends out here with him, but I don't think they know him as well as you do."_

_"They've known him for years," Katniss reasoned. "I'm sure they know him better than I do, considering I've known him less than one." How could someone she'd known for less than a year left such an indelible mark on her? How had someone come to mean that much to her in such a short amount of time, only for them to be ripped away?_

_He swallowed heavily, lowered his voice as though he didn't want to say the next words. "Look, it's been a long time since I felt the way about someone that you two feel - or felt - for each other. Connections like that overcome any length of time rubbish. I'm not going to get into the whos or the whats or the whys about this, or get smushy because that's not my thing. But just do it, okay? I've kinda grown to like the kid."_

_It was high praise indeed from Haymitch, and she couldn't help but sigh. "Fine. But if he rejects my help-"_

_"He won't."_

_"Then there's nothing I can do," she continued, as though Haymitch hadn't interrupted._

_"Trust me. He won't. You both just need to watch out for each other."_

_Katniss shrugged, then looked back up the gangplank. "I have to go. Keep an eye on Prim and Mom, okay?"_

_He nodded, lifted an arm as though he was going to hug her, then let it drop. Awkwardness hung in the air until she took a step towards him, wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "See you soon." Maybe._

_"Get outta here," he said gruffly, but she felt his own hand rest lightly against her back just before they drew apart._

_She didn't look back once, because looking back was always a mistake._

* * *

 

Camp was quiet. In the darkness of night, the tents set up across the plain looked like little black triangles, silhouetted against a sky lit only by the light of the moon, the faintest twinkle of stars. It reminded Peeta of the times he visited Twelve.

Katniss and her life in her District might still be unknown to him, but the memory of the stars there, unfettered by the Capitol skyline, were as clear as day.

He folded his hands across his stomach, continued to connect the small stars like dots, hoping it would lull him to sleep, like everyone else in their group. He envied them their ability to just shut down, close off, and lose themselves in a few hours rest.

He felt like he hadn't slept in days.

So far, their time in Two had been non-eventful. Quick trips to the outskirts of the Capitol, where the Star Squad filmed and refilmed their 'progress' - aka, barely more than 5 meters into an abandoned street, a fake pod being set off to show some excitement and add a layer of believability that they were 'infiltrating' the Capitol - before returning to the temporary camps of the rest of the soldiers waiting for _that_ moment, the moment they were deployed to take over the city. Peeta himself was no more than supporting cast in the propos - not even a fighter, but presented as the Capitol Rebel, the man who turned his back on the life he'd known for the love of a woman.

A woman he had to stand beside and smile at for the camera while he desperately searched for even the slightest bit of recognition of being this close to her before.

Shifting his head at the sudden sound of a rustle, he looked over in time to see Katniss sit up bolt right in her sleeping bag, her hand held to her heart. Much like many others, she'd chosen not to burrow inside her tent, instead dragging the thin bedding out in the open. Earlier, they'd watched each other complete the identical maneuver at the same time, on opposite sides of the small fire that Gale had built, then promptly looked away.

Peeta knew they couldn't go on like this. If they had a past, he needed to reconcile it, needed to have some semblance of normalcy with her. If anything _did_ happen to either of them while they were here, he didn't want whatever was left behind to be messy and complicated and answer less.

But one thing he _had_ learned of her told him she wouldn't be the one to start a conversation. It would have to come down to him to take that step.

"Nightmare?" He finally asked her, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the fire. She glanced across at him, eyes wide, and he could see her chest heaving with breaths she was trying to control.

"Uh...yeah," she murmured, lifting the bottom of her sleeve to her brow to wipe it dry.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"And your, uh...wound?"

She tugged her legs up so they were folded against her chest, wrapped her arms around them. The wince on her face with the movement was clear. "It's sore after today. But there's not much I can do about it."

"No more morphling?"

"Coin wouldn't let us bring it. Essentials only." Katniss said it blithely, but he could hear the frustration in her voice.

"She doesn't seem to be the most sympathetic of people."

"She's confusing and frustrating and..." she trailed off, glanced around the bodies strewn around them in various stages of sleep. Many of them were from Thirteen, and even from miles away, he knew Katniss knew better than to criticize their leader - especially if they weren't asleep as they appeared. "Yeah. I don't think she likes me very much."

"It's because you have charisma, because people want to follow you; both something she lacks." He didn't care if _he_ was speaking negatively of Coin, or whether her soldiers heard him or not - truth be told, in the few times he'd met with Coin he'd been just as impressed by her as he was of the other President he knew. Which was not at all.

"You don't know that," Katniss muttered, glancing away. "You don't know me."

The crack in her voice was clear.

"You're right," he agreed. "I don't. Not in the way you know me. But I've seen you, Katniss. I saw you get shot. I've seen the propos from when you were in Eight, and I've seen what the simple presence of you in a room can do. And Coin doesn't have anything like that."

She didn't say anything at first, continued to look everywhere but at him. And then she pulled herself abruptly to her feet, crossed the few short feet that separated them and dropped to the damp ground beside him.

"You need to stop saying things like that," she hissed, and up close, her silver eyes glittered with unshed tears.

"About Coin?"

"About _me_." She shook her head. "Do you know how it makes me feel when you say something like that? How it makes me feel when we have to stand next to each other and talk and look happy together for Cressida?"

Peeta blinked. "I..."

"You've gone through so much, _so much_ you don't deserve to, and I'm sorry for all of it. It isn't fair and I wish it had never happened. But...you lost your memory of me, Peeta, and it's killing me," she bit out. "And every time you say or do something nice to me, another part of me dies inside. But I keep taking it, because it's all I can get, and it's stupid of me, and I need to stop. I need you to stop."

He swallowed heavily. "I just want..." What _did_ he want? "I'm just trying to fill in the pieces, Katniss. And it's working - sort of. And I don't think I can stop saying nice things to you. There's just something in me that has to. I can't help it."

A piece of wood shifted in the fire, shooting a handful of sparks into the air, startling them both. It crackled, a plume of smoke shot into the air, and they both watched it bank and settle again in heavy silence. Inside, Peeta's heart was racing, not sure what she'd say. Unsure why he'd even thought it was a good idea for him to say what he just had in the first place.

Finally, when she spoke, Katniss' voice was soft. Hesitant. The bitter tone was gone. "What do you mean it's sort of working? You mean the sessions with Prim?"

He nodded slowly, stared at the fire. "Yeah. Mostly I just think my head is full of other people's stories of you, but Haymitch seems to think that something is working. I'm still just trying to work out what's real for me, and what's real for others."

The sound she made was a combination of a scoff and a muffled expletive. "Haymitch," she muttered. "Of course he'd know." She slid her gaze across to him. " _You_ don't think it's working, though?"

"I don't know what to think," Peeta replied honestly. "It's like I have this...black pit in my mind and it's being filled up with murky images. Some want to break free. Others are insistent in just...lurking. Mostly, though, it just feels like I have a tether to you, and I don't know whether it's being forced on me, or if it's something I want."

There. _There it was_. The one thing that had been going on and around in his mind for days, weeks even. Whether he wanted that connection to her. Whether it was a connection he felt, or that he _felt_ like he should feel.

And even though he could see the pain on her face at his honesty, he knew it had been been the right thing to say.

"I don't want you to feel obliged to me, Peeta. I know what it's like to have to do something you don't want to, and if being with me is something you don't want, then I accept that." He opened his mouth to argue with her, that it wasn't that he _didn't_ want to be with her, but more that he still didn't know _enough_ , that things were still just too confusing for him, but she barrelled on. "But if you have questions, I'll answer them. Help you to determine what's real for you."

His eyebrows lifted in shock. "You'd do that?"

"I did it before," she reminded him, and Peeta looked away shamefully. Of course she had. He'd asked questions, and had the gall to ask if they'd been intimate together. The despair on her face had told him the answer before she'd said a word. He'd regretted the question immediately.

"I'd appreciate that," he said.

"Okay," Katniss replied. "And other than that, just...try not to be so nice to me. Please." She stood up then, and walked back to her tent without another word, dragged her bedding inside. He heard one muffled sob, and then nothing.

It was just him, and the crackling of the fire.

* * *

 

The morning the first unexpected pod was detonated began just like any other day. The squad woke early, crossed Two's border, and moved into the Capitol. Boggs led the way, a small holographic device in his hand that showed him a 3D map of the city - and the placement of any security pods - with Gale close behind, Katniss hurrying to keep up. The Leegs whispered in some kind of twin language only they knew, while Finnick, Mitchell and Homes discussed the impending rain that had been predicted; Jackson marched on alone, alternatively looking both angry and frustrated. Castor and Pollux communicated with only their hands, and Cressida and Messala discussed in hushed breaths their shot list for the day. Peeta lingered at the back, after having woken already tired - he'd stayed up late the night before with Katniss, asking her questions that he knew hurt her to answer. Did this memory happen? Is this mine or someone else's? I had this dream...

He figured whether he'd wanted to or not, he'd been keeping his word to not be so nice to her.

But it seemed normal, as much as any other day, as they took a right, then two lefts into a street they hadn't ventured into before.

And then the shout was sudden, and unexpected, and they all turned at once to see Mitchell frozen in place, his eyes wide in horror.

"I...stepped on one." His voice was garbled, as though he was choking on something, and a moment later blood began to dribble and pour from the side of his mouth, his body jerking violently before his head slumped forward. The end of the spear that had pierced his entire body, penetrating up through his foot first, protruded from in between his shoulder blades.

"Shit." Not two feet away from him, Finnick breathed out heavily, his face drained of colour, eyes scanning the rest of the street as though a pod would pop up out of nowhere at any moment. Peeta was surprised his own heart hadn't leapt right out of his chest, and his fingers quivered on the gun he'd been assigned as more of a prop than anything else.

Though he figured whether it worked or not, it had zero chance of saving him from an active pod.

"Heavensbee was wrong. It's not safe," Boggs announced, eyes focused on the holomap. "There are new pods. There is nothing on this map to indicate there were ever pods on this street."

"I thought this place had been swept," Jackson snapped.

"It had," Boggs murmured, still not looking up. "I guess the Capitol is watching us even closer than President Coin anticipated, for them to move this quickly. We have to be careful. Anywhere and anything could be-"

A snap, a crunch. A giant claw reached up from under an innocuous stone in the path, snapped Messala in half as though he was nothing but a rag doll, blood splattering across the ground, across those closest to him. Cressida jumped back in terror, only to knock a pot plant off the windowsill of a house painted bright purple. They all froze, waited for the inevitable.

After 5 minutes of standing as still as statues, and being able to do nothing but stare at the two mutilated bodies of their crew, they all almost simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't come.

"Okay," Boggs started, his voice firm and strong."We need to go around here to the right, get back onto the street we were on yesterday. Then we can get back to base. It's too unpred-"

His words were once again cut off, but this time it was from the command of Jackson to _get running_ , to _get moving_. And with one glance over his shoulder, Peeta could see why.

A black, smoking, roiling sea of liquid was heading straight for them, overhauling anything in its path.

They ran.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your kudos and comments, I appreciate every single one. You can probably tell that we're very close to the end with this, and I hope it won't be too long before I can post the final couple of chapters. :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings - I'm always keen to chat with with other THG fans!


	27. Chapter 27

He closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the panelled wall behind him and took a deep breath, tried to control his nerves and ease the rapid beating of his heart. Maybe, just maybe, if he could get that under control, he could feel normal again, not feel like he would bring up everything he still held in his stomach.

_Who was he kidding? Nothing would ever be normal again._

He knew closing his eyes had been a mistake. Because every time he did, he could see it all happening again, almost as though it were in slow motion - the black wave rolling towards them, swallowing the streets and everything in its path, and then the skin melting away from the bones of Elena Leeg, the tar overwhelming and stripping her raw until there was absolutely nothing of her left.

Opening his eyes to ward off the images, Peeta glanced across the other side of the room, where Ellin Leeg was curled in a ball in a plush high-backed chair that looked no more comfortable than the floor itself. She wasn't crying - everything he'd learnt about the identical twins during the time of their training had told him that crying was never an option for either of them. But the blank, vacant look on her pale face spoke volumes.

The tar - oily and smoking and putrid - had turned them in circles and forced them down side streets and alleys until they were no longer certain of their location. With barely a minute to spare before the tar overtook them, they'd managed to break into one of the empty Capitol houses that lined the street, gagging and choking from the noxious gasses in the air. The area itself was one that had already been captured by the Rebels, forcing the Peacekeepers and Capitol citizens to abandon their stations and homes and head in closer to the City Centre. _It was safe_ , Plutarch had said. _It was clear._

But it wasn't, and not even a minute had been long enough to save the youngest Leeg twin.

Calls to base had gone unheeded, and the realisation soon came that all their comms were down - _"They probably sent out a magnetic pulse of some sort," Homes had suggested, "Designed to cut off our communications."_ With no support, and likely miles off that days designated course, they had no choice but to try and make it back on their own.

Now, what was left of the group was huddled in the back parlour of a Capitol house much like one that Peeta had grown up in, albeit with furniture more ostentatious than anything even his own mother would have picked, while they determined their next steps.

"We can't stay here for too long." Despite his obvious intention to keep his voice low as he spoke to Jackson, Peeta could still hear Boggs' words, and he shifted his gaze to the entry of a wide hallway, where the two soldiers stood. "We don't know how safe it is here. They clearly activated the tar as soon as we set off the other pods - they'll be here for us as soon as it's cleared."

"I suggest we go now then, while we still can. Not waste any time."

"I agree." He focused his gaze on the holo in his hands. "We're in a completely different quadrant than we should be, though. I need to determine an alternate route."

"If we go out the back entrance into this courtyard," Jackson pointed to the right hand corner of the holo, "We should be able to move through the buildings on the next block over and out into this quarter."

"And we'll be stepping into a section not swept by Rebels, and likely teeming with extra pods," Cressida interjected from the other side of the room, pushing away from the wall - apparently, Peeta wasn't the only one intently listening to the conversation. "It's not safe."

"Well we can't stay here." Jackson's frustration with the interruption was clear, her jaw so tense he was certain it would crack at any moment. "So unless you have any _other_ bright ideas…"

Peeta watched as Katniss pulled herself to her feet from her place on a plump sofa; the determination he spied on her face was something he'd slowly become familiar with since his arrival in Thirteen. "Can I have a look at the holo please, Commander?"

Both Boggs and Jackson's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he handed the holo over wordlessly for her inspection. No one spoke as she studied it carefully.

"We should go back the way we came," she finally said, her finger drawing a line across the screen. "If the tar does...what it does, then there's a good chance it's already set off any remaining pods. It would be clear, and we could get through to this section here, which could lead us back to camp."

Peeta could practically see the fumes coming from Jackson's ears. "Must I remind you that Capitol surveillance feeds would have likely shown us coming into here?"

"But they won't show us leaving." Castor's quiet voice came from behind the sofa - from where he sat, Peeta could only see his outstretched legs. "Surveillance equipment in the Capitol is designed to be lightweight, easily removable, and small enough to mostly remain undetectable. It would have been built for form, for style, not hardiness. Katniss is right. Anything that was in the path of that tar would have been destroyed - cameras, pods…" he trailed off, and Peeta heard him clear his throat. "Um, sorry Ellin. I'm...sorry."

"And what if it's still poisonous? Look how it affected us before - we could barely breathe by the end." Every suggestion that was put forward, Jackson had an argument for, and Peeta had to admire her for it, even if it did make her look obstropulous. She seemed like someone who always wanted her T's crossed and her I's dotted, always wanted every possibility to be explored before a decision was made.

"Look, we're wasting time here; talking and arguing when we could easily be doing something more productive." Gale stalked across the room towards the entryway of the house, where some of the black tar had spread under the door, creating a smooth, hardened pool in the middle of the white marble floor. He poked at it with his boot before slipping a knife from his belt and crouching beside it; he sliced it through the mass, holding it up to see the silver unblemished. "It's not corrosive. If we wear our masks and don't touch it with any bare skin, we should be fine out there." He glanced up at Boggs. "Commander?"

For a moment Boggs studied the holo silently, before he raised his head. He looked at Katniss carefully, his eyes intent and focused as though trying to decipher something; finally, he nodded. "Katniss' idea is sound. We go out the way we came; we'll find shelter a few blocks away, and try and re-establish communications with base. Regroup away from where the Capitol would have last seen us."

Everyone in the group dragged themselves to their feet, slipping masks from inside their bags over their faces; guns were reloaded and hooked over shoulders or held in anticipation of trouble. He could hear the grumbles of Jackson, a quiet whimper from Ellin, the creaking of plastic as Castor and Pollux reattached their camera pods to their backs. The tension in the room was palpable.

As Peeta looked across at Katniss and caught her eye, he noticed a faint gleam of victory in the silver depths. And with an unexpected twisting of his belly, he wondered what had caused it.

* * *

Boggs led them back out onto the street, Katniss and Jackson flanking him on either side. Their assumptions had been right - the candy coloured streets were covered in a thick sheen of black tar, shiny in the chilly afternoon sun, and any cameras that would have captured their entry into the Capitol house would have been long gone. And as they passed a section of street dotted with the golden bodies of tracker jackers that had had a fleeting moment of freedom before succumbing to the tar's fumes, and a demolished building covered in a pale purple goo, Katniss was relieved to realise their _other_ assumption about the pods was correct also.

It made her feel a little bit better about how she was going to betray them all.

It had been a risk, suggesting they go this way. Yes, it could lead them back to camp easily, if they were careful and retraced their old steps. But more importantly, with the layout of the streets, it also got them one quadrant closer to the City Centre. One step closer to Snow.

It was frustrating knowing she couldn't take the holo itself, with it only acting upon voice recognition and commands from Boggs, but if she stayed close enough to him while he studied it, she could memorise the locations of pods, and mark them on a paper map of the city she had tucked in her pocket, a remnant of her training scenarios back in Thirteen. Once she had that knowledge, she was gone - and travelling with one would be much easier than in a group the size of theirs.

They'd forgive her for deserting them, they'd have to. Even if it was post-humously.

They continued to move down the street until the tar began to thin to a translucent layer, and the pastel rooftops began to shine through again - with a brisk tip of his head, Boggs indicated to a small semi-detached house off to one side, jimmied the door until the lock broke and they could all escape inside. Katniss wasn't surprised to see it was identical in layout to the one they'd just left, right down to the marbled floors and intricately curved spiral staircase.

"Block the door," Boggs directed Gale as he brought up the rear; he did so, dragging an armchair across the room to jam it shut, while the rest of the group wearily stumbled over the smooth, polished floors, sinking into sofas covered with down-filled quilts, and staring blankly at a wide holo screen that was fuzzy with static.

For ten minutes, no one said a single word.

Pangs that were as familiar to her as her own name suddenly cramped Katniss' stomach, accompanied by a slow growl. "We need to see if there's food here," she murmured - it had been hours since they'd eaten rations at camp, and she knew no one carried anything more than the most basic of medical supplies or camera gear, and a water canteen. "We don't know how long it will be before we get back to base."

Boggs nodded. "Homes?" The soldier obediently hopped to his feet, and following Cressida's directions, headed down a hallway that led to the kitchen; soon, she heard the squeaking open of cupboards, and an almost immediate slam of wood against wood. Her stomach pitched with each sound - she knew what that meant.

"Cupboards are bare," Homes announced, confirming her worry, as he stepped back into the parlour. "It's been cleaned out, probably by Rebels when they swept through."

"No, there should be emergency stock," Peeta said absently, and Katniss watched as the eyes of almost everyone in the room swung to face him - only those from the Capitol looked unsurprised at his comment. He shrugged. "This house is much like the one I grew up in. Everyone I knew always kept emergency stock in a hidden panel in the wall just beside the refrigerator."

"Why?"

Her question was simple enough, but she saw the shame fill his eyes, his cheeks pinken in embarrassment, and she immediately regretted it.

He looked down at his hands, rubbed them along the thighs of his pants. "It was a, uh, directive from President Snow. In case...in case infiltrators from the Districts tried to overtake the Capitol again. At least there would be emergency rations in every house that they couldn't find if they, um, ransacked houses. Victims would still be able to eat even if everything else got stolen." _Hoarding food in secret cupboards while those in the Districts starved to death?!_ Katniss' mouth dropped open, though she shouldn't have been surprised. Nothing about Snow surprised her anymore, and hearing that wasn't the worst thing she'd heard, by far.

" _Reallllllly_." The disgust in the drawn out reply from Gale was clear. "And you believed him?"

" _Gale_ ," she hissed, at the same time Peeta scoffed.

"You've got no idea, Gale," he shot back. "You know I think the Capitol is as despicable as you do, but yeah, I _did_ grow up in a Capitol household and that's what happened. That's what he told everyone, and everyone did it because they didn't know any better."

"You can't blame us for things like that," Cressida added, running her palm across her bare head. "We're here with you, aren't we? Ready to pilfer the emergency rations?"

"Just show us where they are, Peeta," Boggs cut in, shaking his head. "I'm not going to have us waste time discussing something that has no bearing on our situation right now. We're all on the same side."

Katniss watched as Peeta nodded and drew himself to his feet, walking back along the way Homes had come from. They all followed in a row, filling the kitchen until there was barely room to move. Peeta confidently moved beside the fridge, pressed a hand to a panel that looked no different to the one beside it - and with hardly a sound, it swung open, revealing row upon row of canned and boxed Capitol delicacies.

"Dinner's up," Peeta announced, and walked away.

* * *

They ate until their bellies were full, while Jackson attempted to get the comms to work, and Cressida tried to link their camera feed back to the camp, both to no avail. Boggs continued to study the holo, not letting it out of his sight, while Finnick absently tied knots into a weathered rope Katniss hadn't even been aware he'd brought with him. There was murmured conversation, about pods, about what people were thinking at camp, whether people were aware back in Thirteen that they were off their course.

An hour into their stop, faint rumbling in the distance caused everyone to begin to shift nervously, bodies braced and alert, waiting for Peacekeepers to come barrelling through the door any moment, ready to take them into custody. But five minutes turned into ten, ten into twenty, and the noise didn't come any closer, no Peacekeepers were breaking down their door - whatever it was, it was clear it wasn't coming to, or for, them.

Resting her chin on the top of her updrawn knees, Katniss released a relieved breath, and tried not to look at Peeta. It was all she'd done for most of their time there, wondering about his discomfort over his comments about the kitchen, the way he'd drawn into himself from almost the minute he'd admitted about the secret cupboard, and wishing she could talk to him about it. Wishing she could talk to him at all.

Wishing she could tell him about her plan, and knowing that she couldn't.

It was better that she didn't, she knew it was. He'd already been through enough, and she knew that by killing Snow, it was likely to be a death sentence for her and any accomplice - and that wasn't a sentence she wanted to bestow upon him. He'd risked his life enough for her already.

So instead, she just watched him, and wished. And almost fell out of her chair when the large holo screen that dominated the room blared to life, triumphant drums and trumpets breaking her out of her reverie.

Every set of eyes in the room were fixated on the footage, breaths held in nervous anticipation, as the reveal of the official Capitol seal announced an address from the President. The seal glimmered in gold and silver, before it slowly faded, giving way to an elaborately furnished study, and the man himself seated regally, front and centre, in a chair that would have cost more than a Merchant house in District Twelve.

He took a deep breath, revelling in what would be a captive audience around Panem, before he began to proudly announce the death of traitor, Katniss Everdeen, and the radical rebels that followed her lead. Confused glances were shared around the room as pictures of most of them - Katniss, Finnick, Gale, the Capitolites and Boggs - flickered across the screen to accompany his words; the soldiers from Thirteen failed to garner an official mention. As he spoke, the President's' voice was firm and unaffected, but the glee in his eyes was unmistakable as he reminded his citizens of everything _she'd_ done to try and usurp the ways of Panem, the ways she'd upset the balance of the country.

If possible, it only made her hate him even more.

Footage of their escape from the black tar filled the screen, providing a new backdrop for his measured but bitter words, and Katniss had to bite her lip to stop the sob from escaping when they had to watch Leeg disappear again. Their house break-in was clear to see, as was the unexpected explosion that flattened the very building they'd escaped into. Flames danced and flickered in the night sky from its remains, almost joyful looking as they reiterated Snow's proclamation.

_"The Girl on Fire has been ended by fire."_

"That's what that rumbling was. They blew it up," Finnick breathed. "They really will think we're all dead." He ran a hand across his face, scrubbed at his eyes. "Annie will think I'm dead."

_Prim will think I'm dead._

"Stop it, Finnick," Peeta said quietly, his hand reaching out to his friend, resting on his shoulder. His eyes flickered over to her briefly before he glanced back down. "We'll be back at camp soon enough and we can get word to Annie and everyone else. They'll know we escaped, and-"

A sudden ear piercing sound of static filled the air, and the screen wavered and flickered, until an unmistakable grey curtain of hair slowly began to appear, and the flat voice of Thirteen's leader filled the room. Beetee had broken through the Capitol's transmission.

"This is President Coin of District Thirteen, and leader of the Rebellion. We are heartbroken at the news that has just been revealed, of the loss of the Mockingjay, the symbol of our rebellion; we mourn her deeply. But I'm here to remind you, all Panemites, that Katniss Everdeen and her squad died heroes, died fighting for the cause, died fighting for _your_ freedom. The Mockingjay lived to set you free, and with her death, you will. She fought for us, for _you_. Now it's time to fight for her."

She was just as bad as Snow was, Katniss thought, the anger building in her chest. Coin didn't care any more for Katniss than Katniss had cared for her. Her words were hollow, meaningless. Her speech was, much like everything else, a show, a farce.

_A game._

Coin continued to eulogise her, her words no more sincere than Katniss expected them to be, until the Capitol finally shut down the interruption - or Beetee simply gave it up - and Snow's final words to the country rang clear. His anger at being interrupted by the Rebels was obvious on his face, and his final words were a promise, a threat.

" _Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen's body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself."_

The screen went blank.

* * *

"We can't continue along this path."

Katniss felt and heard, rather than saw, Boggs situate himself on the floor beside her in the dim light. The sun had long since set, and rest, even for an hour, had become a necessity - the group was spread out across the room in varying states of sleep. But it had been fleeting for her, as she waited for a moment where Boggs - always awake and alert - wouldn't be secreted away in a corner of the room, so she could peer over his shoulder at the holo, or study it with him without seeming suspicious with her intensity. He'd remained steadfast in his solitude from the rest of the group, though, and her plans were slowly dissolving into nothing.

"Why not?" She finally said, trying to keep her voice even.

"The minute they realise we're not in that house, they're going to go searching the immediate area. And any pods that weren't activated before will be now. This is just a reprieve. They're not going to make the road to the City Centre easy for us, Katniss."

She blinked, looked away, though in the dim light it wasn't really warranted. He wouldn't be able to see the nervous flush across her cheeks. "What do you mean? We're heading for camp."

He sighed quietly. "We're not going to camp, Katniss. You know that as well as I do." He paused for a moment, giving her an opportunity speak, before he continued. "You think I don't know what you want to do? Why you suggested this route? Why Haymitch told you to be careful before we left?"

Her mouth dropped open as she swung her gaze back to him. "You know? He knows? How?"

"Let's just say that Haymitch knows you well, and it's my job to know people well, whether they like it or not." He breathed out slowly. "I agreed to your suggestion because you need to do this. You're the only person who can."

"But..." she trailed off. _Alright, he knew her plan. No point in pretending._ She straightened her shoulders. "Fine. Does Coin know?"

She saw the outline of his head as he shook it. "No. And she'll likely put me to trial for disobeying orders and going rogue."

Her brow furrowed in consternation. "Then let me go alone. That's all I want," she said firmly. "I don't need the rest of you. You all go back to camp, I head to the City Circle. Tell them you woke up and found me gone."

"I can't do that, Katniss."

"Why not?"

This time Boggs sat forward slightly, and the faintest gleam of light through a gap in the drapes on the other side of the room danced across his face. "You have to go because you need to," he repeated. "You already know that. We go because we're your crew and squad. Plus..." he shot her a look that from anyone else would have constituted a side-eye. "A paper map would have been useless."

She flushed at her transparency. "So do I need to do this so that Coin can become President of Panem? Is that why you want me to do it?" She demanded, but he didn't get angry at her like she thought he might. Instead, his mouth quirked.

"You know why she doesn't like you, don't you?" It wasn't an answer, but she figured he had a reason for his question. Boggs never did anything without purpose.

"No idea," Katniss said honestly. It didn't matter that others had tried to tell her why - none of their words sat well with her. It made her too important, too influential. And she still didn't think she'd ever been - or _be_ \- either of those.

"If I asked you who the next President of Panem should be, what would you say?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, paused. And he nodded.

"That's why. If your immediate answer isn't her, you're a threat. And she knows in a million years you'd never vote for her. She's done everything she can to try and trip you up, confuse you, yet you prevail. And you will, with this new mission."

"New mission?"

"That's right," he confirmed, as though it was something she should have known all along. "One so secret that we couldn't tell the whole crew until an opportunity presented itself. And now it has. You're going to kill Snow, and we're going to lead you there to do it."

"But what if we...what if we don't make it back out after? I don't want to be responsible if these people don't survive." _She already had enough blood on her hands, she didn't need any more. Especially not the blood of those with her._

"We all knew the risks when we trained as soldiers, and that hasn't changed. If we don't make it, we don't make it. But if we're successful, that's what counts."

He spoke like a soldier, one willing to do what it took to win a war, to defeat a tyrant, and the firmness in his voice didn't beg any argument. Boggs had just given her permission to do exactly what she wanted.

She couldn't say no. _Wouldn't_ say no.

"What's the plan then?" she asked, her heart thudding in anticipation.

He held up the holo, and it suddenly glowed in the darkness. "There's no other option - we have to go underground, through the sewers. There'll still be pods down there, but nowhere near as many as above ground." With the green light illuminating his face, Katniss saw his eyes track over to where Castor and Pollux were slumped against each other on a wide sofa, soft snores emanating from both of them. "Cressida once told me that Pollux used to work in the tunnels when he was first turned into an Avox. Castor had to buy his way out, that's the only reason he's not still down there. He'll be the best guide we could hope to have."

Katniss let her gaze move around the room, at the people that surrounded them. "And you're sure you want to do this? I could still do this on my own."

"We're your squad and your crew," Boggs reminded her firmly. "I'm your Commander, Katniss, and I say where you go, we go. And we go in an hour."

* * *

He didn't like being down here. It reminded him of the times, when he was a child, when his mother would make him transfer the waste from the bakery to the trash chutes at the end of the street, rather than the ones inside their own building. _"Just because you're from the Capitol doesn't mean you get to be complacent. Maybe I should send you out to the Districts, let them make a real man out of you."_

Peeta had never really understood his mother's correlation between essentially taking the trash out and him being deemed a 'real man', but her words, and her voice, and the bitter snarl on her face had stuck with him. And now, as they carefully made their way through the depths of the city above, she was the primary thing on his mind.

He couldn't afford to think like that, though. He other pressing matters to worry about.

_Like his life._

The group had been abruptly shaken out of their naps to Boggs announcing that it was time they were told what their new mission was. The mission that Coin had secretly given him, if they had the chance to. To head into the City Centre, and for Katniss to assassinate Snow.

It hadn't sat right with him, the directive not sounding like one that would have come from the leader of Thirteen. But he'd looked at Katniss, at the resolve on her face, the determination. And Peeta knew that regardless of where the order came from, he wasn't going anywhere but after her. Even if he still didn't entirely understand why.

Boggs had revealed his intention to go underground, and while Peeta had seen Pollux visibly start at the plan, no one disagreed. Cressida had confirmed the existence of service passageways that led along the back of each housing block, and the service shaft that led down from at least one of the houses into the underground maze. They'd quickly determined that the one next door, being on the end, would have the access.

Dumping any non-essentials into a wardrobe filled with fluffy, sparkly, feather covered gowns, along with Castor and Pollux's camera shells - their size made them more of a hindrance than a help - they'd made their way through the connecting passageways, down into the freezing depths of the Capitol. And now they were creeping around pathways and tunnels, the bright white and pastel pink tiles a juxtaposition to the feeling of dread that surrounded them, as they avoided Avoxes that continued to work long into the night. He was glad they had Pollux, glad that Boggs had the holo to at least give them an idea of where to avoid being blown up by grenades the size of thumbnails, or burned alive by fire flares.

They walked for hours on end, guns at the ready, and he could see the exhaustion begin to set in around the group. And it was that exhaustion, combined with the grief that he knew was overwhelming Leeg, that probably caused her to stumble, to fall.

And a pod they had no idea existed opened beneath her and swallowed her whole before she even had a chance to scream.

The fear and terror was instant, and they scrambled forward, glancing wildly around them, waiting for the moment that they were discovered, that they were found. And it didn't take long for the whispers to begin to echo through the sewers.

_Katniss. Katniss. Katnisssssssssss._

Swinging his head around to face her, he saw the horror on her face as she doubled over at the waist, gagging. _Masks on!_ he faintly heard Jackson call, but he couldn't smell a thing that he'd assume was deadly, only the faint scent of roses. And even Katniss was shaking her head.

"It's about me," she managed to choke out. "The roses. The smells...not poisonous, they're just...for me. It's all for me. He knows we're down here."

"Then we better get going," Boggs announced bluntly. "We've still got at least half a mile-"

He didn't get a chance to finish as garbled murmurs and wails began to build behind them, as Pollux lifted a shaky hand, pointing towards the way they'd come; everyone turned. An army of Peacekeepers had begun to form, filing out of side passageways until they stood to attention, their gazes - and guns - fixed firmly on the group in front of them. But they didn't even get a chance to advance, as the whispers of _Katniss_ got louder and louder, and the Peacekeepers themselves got overwhelmed. Blood sprayed across the white tiles, heads rolled, limbs were torn from torsos and thrown away as though they weighed nothing.

To a mutt, meat was meat, human was human; it didn't matter what side it was on. They only had one purpose.

_Katniss._

They were unlike anything Peeta had ever seen, long and lean and reptilian in form. They stood on two legs like a human, and had two arms, but that was where the resemblance ended. Their skin was scaly and white, their eyes green and red-rimmed, their pointed teeth revealed in wide, grotesque mouths.

"Run!" Boggs yelled, and no one ignored the order.

Peeta could hear the long talons of the mutts clicking against the tiles, their scrambling as they continued to climb over the remains of the Peacekeepers, their hisses as they called for Katniss.

"Avoid the right!" Boggs commanded, his voice echoing in the halls. "Firelighters!"

Almost in sync, they all moved as far to the left as possible, almost tripping each other up in the process. Katniss had fallen in beside him, and her hand reached out involuntarily to steady herself, clasping itself around his, where it was clenched tightly around the butt of his gun.

If stopping time was a possibility, it would have stopped in that moment.

They looked at each other, wary grey locking with hesitant blue. He felt his heart speed up, and then slow again. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could let her go, that he _should_ let her go. But he didn't. Instead, he grabbed his gun with his left hand - effectively rendering it useless - and held on. They kept running, but the mutts continued to gain on them - Peeta was certain that with every step he took, their heated, putrid breaths were blowing on his neck.

"The meat grinder is coming up," Katniss muttered, and he tried to glance over at her without taking his eyes off the path in front of him.

"What?"

"The meat grinder," she repeated in between breaths. "It's a pod, I remember it from the holo. If...if we can get past it, we can shoot at it, set it off. Let the mutts fall into it."

He nodded frantically. "It's a good idea."

She tugged her hand from his, half turned on her foot to face the few still behind her. "Move faster! A pod's coming up that we can activate to stop them once we get past!"

"The meat grinder!" Boggs yelled back from in front of her.

"Yes!"

It was enough to get everyone moving even faster, conscious to keep the same exact footsteps as Boggs, their feet slapping against the tiles. There was no attempt to be quiet or stealthy anymore - it was just about survival and nothing else. Boggs turned suddenly around a sharp corner, and the minute they were all in the dim service tunnel, both he and Katniss began to shoot at the floor to the left of where they'd just run from.

Giant claws sprung up from the ground, crunching and crushing the tiles, huge rollers with what looked like deadly spikes sticking out of them at practically every angle. If any of them had fallen in, it would have meant an agonising death.

Instead, they'd saved that for the mutts.

The front lines of them fell in, their flesh immediately torn from their limbs as they howled and tried to claw their way back to safety, all to no avail. The crunching of bone as they were ground to dust set Peeta's teeth on edge, and he had to look away.

"Keep moving, squad," Boggs demanded. "We've managed to hold them back for now, but we can't linger. We've got to get ourselves another head start."

But it didn't matter in the end. Because mutts were mutts, and they possessed abilities none of them could ever have. Like the ability to leap right over the chomping claws of the meat grinder.

"Shit!" Gale yelled, cocking his gun and letting loose a spray of bullets. Jackson, Homes and Finnick followed, the sounds of their shots piercing in the small space.

"Stop wasting time, we've got to keep going!" Peeta heard Katniss yell as she pushed Cressida and Pollux past her, forcing them to run. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Boggs stop her, shove something in her hands that, from the way she seemed to almost throw it back at him, she didn't want to take. It was obvious they were arguing, but he didn't have the time to watch any more.

They needed to get out of there.

"Finnick, stop shooting and move!" Peeta yelled, half turning on his heel to run - then halted just in time to see a mutt take a running leap towards his friend, mouth open, claws outstretched.

"No!" It sounded like Katniss, and it echoed around him, around all of them, drawing out into one long scream. And as the mouth of the mutt clamped around Finnick's arm, tearing it off in one fell swoop, blood spurting like a fountain, Homes fired, the round of bullets sending the mutt quivering to the ground with their force.

Peeta didn't even think, moved back to help Finnick to his feet, every groan of pain falling from his friends lips feeling like a stab to the gut. "Don't give up on me, Finnick. Keep moving. We've gotta go."

He kept his eyes focused on those in front of him - now only Cressida and Pollux, as Katniss looped her own arm around the other side of Finnick to help carry his weight - the sounds of yelling and bullets and fighting following them as they went; he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Pollux aim for a metal ladder affixed to the wall.

"Use it!" Katniss demanded. "Go! Go, go, go, go, go!" They began scrambling up the ladder, Cressida, Pollux and a weakening Finnick in front of him, Katniss immediately behind. He didn't know about anyone else - right now, he couldn't think about anyone else. He was just thinking of getting away, as far away as possible.

_Getting Katniss away from them too._

He leapt up out of the hole the minute his foot hit the final rung and reached down to pull her up after him; he dragged her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly, probably too tightly for her to breathe. But he couldn't let go, not after that. Not after everything that had just happened.

She struggled in his arms, yelling at him to let her go, to let her go back and help those who hadn't come up yet, but he refused, held her even tighter and watched as Gale finally pulled himself through, breath heaving, blood gushing from a neck wound from what he could only assume were from the sharp claws of a mutt. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ladder, waited to see if anyone else was going to pull themselves up it.

All he heard were screams and shooting and howling and teeth snapping.

He felt Katniss go limp in his arms, the struggle suddenly draining from her; he saw her right hand rise up until he recognised the holo that was clasped in it. And with a murmured order to it that he couldn't hear over the noises below, she released it down the hole, turning her head away in one fluid motion.

There was a faint rumble and boom, and then blood and flesh, from human and mutt alike, shot into the air.

He swallowed the bile that threatened to overwhelm him, jerked his head sharply towards Pollux and Cressida to close the cover. No one else was coming

_And then there were six._

Peeta watched as Gale - with his own injuries hindering him - began to fashion a rudimentary tourniquet around the stump of Finnick's arm to try and stop the flow of blood. His face was pale, _too_ pale, and Peeta knew if they couldn't get him medical attention sooner rather than later, he wouldn't make it. And Peeta _needed_ him to make it.

He gingerly began to loosen his arms from around Katniss, allowing her to move. But rather than stepping away, as he'd expected her to do, she remained in his arms, her head tucked into the curve of his neck, her body hitching with silent sobs; he felt the tears slide down his skin, onto the collar of his jacket. Her hands slid up, curved around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, gripping onto the blond strands tightly.

He felt the jolt of recognition come before he had a second to even process it.

_He watched as she sighed, heavily, deeply._ _"There's nothing you can do for me, Peeta. Go away. There's nothing more for you here. Just leave me alone."_

_He dropped his hands from her shoulders, his eyes searching hers for something, anything, that would tell him to stay. He took one backwards step, then two, then turned and began to walk away._

_And then he realised this could be his only chance, and he didn't want to risk it. He was already a goner._

_Abruptly turning on his foot, he stalked back to her and then his hands were on her face, in her hair, on her hips and his mouth was on hers, hot and wanting and needy and it was the most incredible thing in his life._

_She didn't argue, didn't put up a fight as he backed her up against a tree, and almost immediately her hands reached up and yanked at the blonde hair at the nape of his neck. Their hips plunged towards each others, and Peeta figured if he died tonight, he'd die happy._

He inhaled sharply, jolted heavily in her arms. _What the hell was that? Was that a memory, a dream?_

_Had their first kiss been in the snow?_

"Peeta?" He felt her move, her head lifting so that she was staring straight up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and full of sorrow and worry. Tears had created streaks down her cheeks, and a shallow slice across her cheek pearled red with blood. "Peeta, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

He shook his head, the words caught in his throat. "If...I don't know."

Her arms lowered until her hands were clasped around his biceps, her fingers digging into the fabric of his District Thirteen uniform, her eyes scanning him frantically as if she'd find an injury. "What is it?"

Peeta took a deep breath, the images still flashing through his head on a loop. "Katniss," he finally murmured. "I need to ask you something."

She stilled. "Anything, you know that."

"Did...was our first kiss out in the snow? In the woods?"

Abruptly, she pulled back from him, her arms dropping to her sides. "What?" she repeated, the colour leaching from her cheeks.

"Was that our first kiss? In the snow?" He knew this wasn't the time or place for this kind of conversation, but he just needed to _know_. It had been so clear, like if he'd reached out his hand, he could have felt the bark of the tree, the snow in the air, the-

"Yes," she muttered. "It was. In Twelve. Behind my house."

"Oh."

_He remembered. He could remember that moment - the feel of her skin under his palms, her lips against his, her breath on his cheek. Her body pressed up against his until there'd been nothing left between them._

_It was real._

"You remember," she whispered, a glimmer of hope lighting her eyes.

"Just that," he replied softly. "Nothing else. Not yet."

Katniss nodded slowly, and he could tell she was shaken by his words; the light dimmed almost immediately. Hope and denial, all in a matter of a sentence. "But it's...a start, right?"

"A start," he agreed, but to what, he wasn't sure.

Peeta watched as she scrubbed her hands across her face, then as she glanced at the people left; he could see the moment the realisation of who was there and who wasn't finally hit her full force. She raised a limp hand and gestured around the room, her shoulders slumping. "This is it, then? They're gone? We're all that's left?"

"We're all that's left," Gale confirmed, who'd finished with Finnick and risen to his feet. His hand was pressed tightly against his neck. "Jackson and Homes stayed at the meat grinder, and Castor and Boggs…" he trailed off. "They're all gone."

Peeta saw the tears well in Katniss' eyes, watched as she stubbornly batted them back. "We need to go, then," she croaked out. "We need to get out of here."

"The holo-"

"We don't need the holo," Katniss hissed at Gale. "I remember it well enough. We just need to get back above ground, and figure out where we are." She glanced at Pollux, whose own face was a study in grief over his brother. "Is there a way out of here?"

He nodded and pointed down a short access tunnel, before reaching down to help Finnick to his feet. Finnick shook his head in protestation.

"Leave me here. You can't go on with me, I'm too much of a burden."

"No," Peeta shook his head violently, crossed to his wounded friend before crouching before him. "I need you to be with us. I won't leave you behind."

Finnick grimaced, his teeth grinding together in pain. "I can't. Annie thinks I'm dead already. It's just-"

"Finn." Peeta lowered his voice. "You need to go home. You need to go home to Annie. And I will not lose my brother in the depths of these Capitol tunnels, you hear me? I already lost Mags, already lost half of my memory, already lost something I didn't even know I had. I won't lose you too."

Finnick's green eyes wavered, before he squeezed them shut. "Dammit, Peeta. You always know what to say." With a heavy sigh, Finnick nodded, allowed Pollux to help him to his feet. He yelped in pain, his body hunched over the limb that was now missing, and Peeta only hoped that Finnick didn't die before he lost hope.

"Alright, let's go," Katniss murmured.

They headed down the short, damp tunnel until Pollux stopped, pointed above their heads to a small, round service door that no doubt led back into a Capitol house.

"I'll go up first," Katniss announced, slowly sliding her bow from her shoulders and nocking an arrow, aiming it up ahead of her. "Gale, can you open it?"

He nodded, stepped forward to slowly unhook the latch. He lowered it gently, while Katniss held her bow in place, just in case, as a shaft of warm, golden light streamed down the now open hatch.

Peeta held his breath, his own gun cocked at his hip, ready if need be, when he heard the start of a strangled gasp. It didn't take more than half a second for Katniss to loosen her arrow; a thud from above echoed like a drum.

* * *

She hadn't really expected anyone to be there, hadn't expected to have to shoot her arrow the moment the door opened. But as the heavy partition slowly lowered, the woman with pink hair and fluffy robe had already been peering down in curiosity, her eyes wide and her mouth open in shock.

Now, Katniss had to stare at the lifeless body on the ground, an arrow embedded in the woman's heart. _Her_ arrow.

Another life on her conscience on her way to kill Snow.

"It's too dark to see anything outside," Cressida said firmly, her back to the group as she stared out through a gap in the drapes that framed the front window. "We've still got about another hour until sunrise, and in this weather, it's not likely to be very bright, either.

"In this weather? What do you mean?"

Cressida flicked the curtain slightly, and even from the other side of the room, Katniss could see the gentle flakes of snow drifting down from the sky. "Temps have been plummeting ever since we got to Two. I guess it's finally tipped over the edge."

"It can't stop us from moving forward." Katniss firmed her lips together. _She wasn't going to stop, refused to stop. Not when she was this close. And she wasn't going to let those who had blindly followed her die in vain_. "We wait until the sun rises, and then try and determine where we are, where we go from here." She looked over to where Finnick was being lowered into a seat with the help of Peeta and Pollux. "We need to do some kind of treatment for Finnick and Gale's injuries, while we wait, though. The medikits we have in our bags are useless for this."

"I'm fine," Gale began to argue, but Katniss brushed his words off silently. She needed something to focus on, needed something to take her mind off the fact that within a matter of 30 minutes, 5 people had died and one of them had practically commanded her to go on without him. Grief would have time to overwhelm her later - trying to provide some kind of aid to Gale was her best distraction right now.

She gripped his forearm and led him towards the kitchen, before nudging him onto a slick silver stool. His skin felt clammy, and she wondered how much blood he'd already lost. It had soaked the collar of his jacket, the black fabric shiny and matted.

She opened cupboard after cupboard as she moved around the kitchen, hoping to find some kind of better stocked medikit than the ones they had; she breathed out a sigh of relief when she came across a small container overflowing with gauze, a surgical needle and thread, and a dozen small bottles filled with clear liquid. She crossed back to him, shifted the uniform collar gently - her hand shook as she did so. "I wish mom or Prim were here. They'd be able to do this, they'd know what to-"

"Katniss, you know what you're doing," he interrupted quietly, even as he hissed with the movement of the fabric. "Just - do what you need to do."

"I need to make sure you're okay," Katniss replied, dabbing some of the clear liquid - no surprises, the box had been filled with more morphling than anything else - onto the gash, numbing it almost immediately. Gale didn't flinch as she cleaned the wound, stitched it as best she could and covered it with a thick piece of gauze.

"You know you've spent a lot of time helping to patch me up over these last few months," he said flippantly, and while she knew he was just trying to lighten the mood, trying to distract her even more, it didn't work.

"That's not funny, Gale," she retorted.

"It's not meant to be funny," he said simply. He reached out, clasped her hand with his. "I'm just saying I appreciate it, alright?"

She shook her head, stepped back. "But both times it was my fault; I could have prevented it. I could have stopped you from being whipped, I could have prevented it tonight-"

"No, you couldn't have." Gale leant forward in his seat. "You couldn't have stopped Thread, and you couldn't have stopped the mutts from doing this." He pointed back to his neck. "Mutt claws as I was reaching for the ladder - Castor turned on it, rammed it in the head with his gun to get it off me. But you couldn't have stopped it getting me. No one could."

"But we lost so many, Gale," she insisted, her voice cracking. "It's all my fault."

"No it's not! Everything that's happened has happened for a reason. And I would take another dozen straps to the back, or a claw across the neck, if it meant I knew that Snow would be dead by morning."

"You don't mean that," Katniss muttered, remembering the red, raw strips of flesh that had covered his back.

"I do. He needs to pay for what he's done, Katniss. Why do you think I'm here? Why do you think we're all here?"

"Because Boggs and I told you about the mission!"

"That mission was a load of bullshit! _I_ knew it, we _all_ knew it!"

"You're lying!"

"It's true." Katniss spun on her heel to see that Peeta had entered the room, his hands smeared with what could only be Finnick's blood. "We all knew that order never came from Coin."

She swung her gaze from her best friend to the boy she'd lost. "Why? Why did you all just blindly follow me, knowing it could get you killed? Are you all stupid?"

Peeta lowered his gaze to hands before he looked back up at her. Confusion filled his bright blue eyes. "Because you don't understand the effect you have, Katniss."

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

His next words were hurried, as if embarrassed by his admission. "Look, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just came in to wash my hands and see if there was any morphling that I could give to Finnick. He's in a hell of a lot of pain." Katniss nodded, pointed towards the medikit with a shaking hand. He murmured his thanks, washing his hands then palming the box before stepping back out, leaving Katniss and Gale alone again.

"He's right," Gale told her. "You really don't understand. You're oblivious to how you can make people react to you."

"I don't want people to react to me." The words burst forth. "I never have. I only ever wanted to save Prim."

"And now you're saving a country. Get used to it, Katniss. We're going to follow you to the bitter end. Even if some of us don't really know why." His gaze tracked to the door Peeta had exited from, and the look on his face turned thoughtful. "You know I never thought much to him at first, still not even sure if I completely trust him. I didn't know what you saw in him. Hated that you wanted someone from the Capitol over anyone else."

Confused by his sudden change in topic, Katniss frowned. "You've always made that pretty clear."

He shrugged, and she saw the moment pain flickered across his face from the movement. "It kind of hurt at first, because part of me always thought...us...well, maybe one day. But I was wrong," he said simply. "And I'm not wrong often."

It would be the closest admission of approval she'd ever get from Gale, she knew that. And while she didn't need it, she appreciated it.

"Thank you, Gale," she whispered.

Gale nodded slightly, then glanced past her shoulder, out the kitchen window. "Sun's up. We should check where we are."

Katniss pulled her paper map out of her pocket, helping Gale to his feet before making her way back to the front room. Cressida was already waiting by the window, Pollux was sitting silently with his detached camera resting in his hands, while Peeta was carefully injecting a syringe full of morphling into Finnick's bloodstream. The effect, and the calm look on the man's face, was immediate.

Stepping forward and spreading the map out on the parlour wall in front of her, she cleared her throat. "The sun's up. Cressida, you have any idea where we are?"

Cressida flicked the curtain slightly so she could see out without being seen. Thin streams of light shot into the room, weak and cool and almost translucent. She was silent for a few moments as she turned her head slightly - left, right, down, far far right - until a small choke fell from her lips.

"What? What is it?" Katniss demanded.

"I think we just got really, really lucky," Cressida said, turning back with a look of disbelief on her face. "This is almost too convenient to be real." She glanced at Peeta, shook her head. "I can't believe it."

Peeta narrowed his eyes. "What? Where are we?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "We're on the street of the bakery. Your parents bakery. Peeta, we're down the road from Mellarks."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating. Words were not my friend the last month or so, lol.
> 
> Some lines from this chapter are direct quotes found in Mockingjay. They're spoken by Snow, are in Italics, and they – much like Katniss and Peeta and co – all belong to the fabulous Ms Collins.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and kudo-ing. I appreciate every single one, and they really do help to encourage on the days where things just aren't working.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings – I love chatting to others in the THG fandom!


	28. Chapter 28

"No. Absolutely not."

Cressida's announcement had sent a shiver down his spine, had caused his heart to thud heavily in his chest; his response had come to him immediately, automatically. Peeta shook his head firmly, as if to reiterate his words even more. "No. We're not going to the bakery."

Seeing his family right now was the last thing he wanted. He'd already been turned away from them once, had already been virtually disowned because he'd turned his back on the family business - he wasn't sure if he could deal with that type of rejection again. Especially not now, when it had become perfectly clear to everyone in Panem that he'd turned his _own_ back on the life he'd grown up in for a different one.

They likely wouldn't even want to see him, anyway. They'd probably turn him in without a second thought.

Cressida folded her arms across her chest. "Why not? It's perfect. It gets us even closer into the city centre, and away from this house. We can't stay here, not with the direct ladder back down into the tunnels. What other option do we have?"

"So, what, are you trying to tell me there's nowhere else we can go?"

"The only ally I know that's even remotely close to here is Tigris," Cressida began, frustration lacing her voice. "She's worked with Plutarch before. But she's about 5 blocks to the East - why try and get there when we have someplace right at the bottom of the street to go to?"

"Because you know what my mother is like," Peeta snapped. "She's _not_ an ally. If we show up at her door, the first thing she'll do is turn us in."

Cressida sighed, and the grimness on her face softened. "Yeah, okay, I do know how your mother would react," she replied. "And I know the chances of her turning us in would be high. Going there is just a risk we have to take, though - there's nowhere else for us to go that makes sense right now."

"But don't you think that the first place they'd look if they knew we were in this area would be the bakery?" Katniss spoke up. Her eyes flicked to him quickly before returning to Cressida. "I mean, his name is Mellark, after all..."

"They don't even know who got out of the sewers yet," Cressida argued. "For all they know, Peeta is dead. And by the time they figure it out that Peeta's not, and if they go looking there,we'll already be on our way again..." She paused as Pollux nudged her, as he used his hands to communicate something to her. She nodded, rested her hand on his forearm in acknowledgement. "And Pollux just reminded me that Boggs said that the closer we get to town, the street pods that showed on the holo aren't activated. In an area like this, they're dormant. We don't even have to worry about them anymore; it's just a matter of remaining undetected."

"Look, we just need to be somewhere other than here - if anyone comes looking for this person, we're in trouble," Gale butted in, leaning against the doorframe. He glanced down the hallway, to the lifeless body they all knew lay down there, covered by a simple pink sheet. "It's just going to be a stopgap for a day or so, just to get us away from here while we regroup. I agree with Cressida. We should hide in plain sight."

"Right," Peeta retorted, his jaw clenching in frustration. "Except the minute we show up, my Mom will probably be on the comm to Snow himself, announcing she has her rebel son in custody."

"Then we don't let her," Cressida said firmly. "There are 6 of us, and 4 of them at the most. We should be able to stop them if they try anything."

If Peeta had stepped back for a moment, he would have realised how absurd it all sounded. Arguing with Cressida over whether his family would turn them over to the authorities. Being scared that they _would._ Discussing the idea of basically subduing his own family, making sure they didn't.

_They cut you out, Peeta. It was their decision, not yours._

He glanced over at Katniss to see her studying him carefully, her eyes inscrutable, and he wondered what she was thinking. Had he told her much about his family? Did she know anything about his relationship with them? Was his announcement that he thought his mother would turn them in a surprise to her? He had no idea.

The only thing he knew right now was that he was wasting time that they didn't have.

"Fine," he finally sighed. "It's a risk we'll have to take. But no one gets hurt if they try to report us, okay? They're still...they're still my family."

Cressida nodded. "No one gets hurt. I promise."

* * *

They took clothes from the Capitol woman's wardrobe, and a second obviously belonging to a partner or husband, thick hooded cloaks in a dizzying array of colours that covered them from head to toe, obscuring their hair and the District Thirteen boots that covered their feet. They secured Pollux's camera under his coat so that it resembled a paunchy stomach, smeared thick layers of makeup on their faces to hide their most distinguishable features. They reinjected Finnick and Gale with more morphling, replaced bandages, replenished water bottles. And when they finally began to sense some kind of life out on the streets, they ventured outside, trying to blend in with the Capitol citizens already out for the day.

Cressida spoke in high, haughty tones that Peeta had never heard her use before, loud enough for those around them to hear her raving on about a _fabulous_ dinner she'd had the night before, that those _insipid rebels_ weren't going to stop her from continuing to live her life however she damn well pleased. He could see Katniss and Gale looking around nervously, but Peeta knew Cressida was doing the right thing. If Capitolites were known for one thing, it was one upmanship - everybody bragged to everybody, and no one would take a second look at someone just because they were sprouting about a meal they'd eaten.

They wouldn't take a second look because it was simply accepted.

Still, they clung to the edges to make themselves less conspicuous - Cressida and Pollux at the front, Gale, Katniss and Finnick bringing up the rear, Peeta alone in the middle - and the closer they got to the bakery, the more his stomach twisted in knots. What _would_ his family say if they saw him on the doorstep with his cohorts? If it was Aaran, would he open the door with a wide grin and his dreadlocks swinging around his shoulders, telling Peeta _it was about damn time_? If it was his father, would he look at him with remorse, and ask him to forgive him for blindly following his wife's orders and cutting him out of their life?

If it was his mother, would she slam the door in his face, or would she spit in it first?

"Peeta, what's the best way for us to go in?"

He hadn't noticed Cressida drop back alongside him, and her voice - low and close to his ear - made him startle. "What?"

"What's the best way for us to go in?" she repeated. "Front or back entrance of the bakery?"

He considered their options for a moment. "The back. They won't be open for another 15 minutes, so the storefront will still be locked. The back won't be, and Mom rarely goes in the kitchen; at least it will be Dad or one of the boys in there. Maybe they can stave her off for a bit, and they can hide us in the store rooms. She never goes in those, either."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Cressida murmured.

"Because she's my mother," he reminded her, and she nodded, before companionably sliding her arm through his. _Just another Capitol couple on a morning stroll._

"Look, Peet, you might be surprised at how much easier this will go than you expect it to," she began quietly. "If Aaran is there, he probably _will_ help us. Your Mom is likely the only one we need to worry about."

"After all that's happened, I'm not so sure," he admitted. "When I saw Aaran that last time, he was adamant that it was Mom's decision that I not visit them anymore, that I was still his 'brother'. But a lot has changed since then. My involvement with the rebellion has obviously come out. And whether I like it or not...my family has never felt the way I have about the injustices in Panem. So I don't know. They could be just as angry at me as she always has been."

"We'll get through it, either way," Cressida said firmly. "We've got this far, haven't we?" She lifted an eyebrow in question, and he slowly nodded, though it was reluctant. Sure, they'd gotten this far, but that didn't really mean a damn thing. "Alright, is it down this next side street?"

"Yeah. Second door. The first one is the alternate storefront entrance." He immediately noted the front shutters of the bakery were still pulled down tightly, confirming that they were yet to open.

"Got it." She moved in front of him, taking the lead again with Pollux, guiding them down the next left. Thankfully, the side street was empty, and any windows on nearby buildings were still shuttered tight, with no curious eyes to watch them. They huddled around the door as a group, Cressida slowly reaching out a hand to the doorknob, moving it down slowly so as to not alert anyone on the other side. "I'll go first," she told them quietly, and no one argued.

She inched the door open, moved her body so she could begin to slide inside. The moment she was in, Peeta heard her gasp, and the door quickly swung out wide, wide enough for all of them to see into the kitchen. For a moment he was terrified that it was his mother there, hand on hip and comm at the ready, that their plan had already been defeated.

But it was even worse than he imagined, and his eyes widened in horror.

It was completely destroyed.

* * *

The shock on his face was clear, the way his eyes continued to track around the room disbelievingly, as though if he looked enough times it would just disappear, that it was all pretend, it would all fix itself.

But it wasn't, and it wouldn't.

They'd quickly scrambled inside the bakery, slamming the door closed behind them as they surveyed the damage. High tech machinery that Katniss had never seen before had been torn apart, beaten with unknown objects until there was no way she'd ever be able to guess what their purpose had been. Spices and flour and eggs and the food staples you'd expect in a bakery had been upended, tossed around the room, coating every surface in a once-gooey mixture that had now dried and hardened, staining everything different shades of yellow and red and green and blue. Silver stools had been smashed into the glass doors that, Katniss assumed, had belonged to large industrial ovens, rendering them useless. A huge steel door to what looked like a walk in fridge hung open, and the smell of rotting food permeated the room.

A quick recon of the rest of the building by Gale and Pollux showed a house - and a bakery storefront - in broken disarray.

And empty of inhabitants.

"Maybe they left, heard the rebels were coming for them and decided to go," Finnick suggested hopefully. He lowered himself onto the lone stool that remained upright, his face still pale from shock and blood loss. Their constant moving wasn't doing anything to help him, that much was clear, and she was thankful that at least they had access to the full-strength morphling to keep him going.

"Does this look like they just 'left'?" Peeta intoned, swinging his gaze over to Finnick, his eyes blank. He sat on the floor in the midst of the mess, his shoulders hunched. "This looks like…" He trailed off, not wanting to mutter the words everyone knew he was going to say.

"Look, maybe there's something here that could tell us where they are," Cressida said. "Maybe they _did_ leave, and this all happened after they were gone."

"Sure, whatever. Check if you want." Peeta stared back at the ground, pressing his hands palm-down on the ruined tiles.

Dropping her pack to the floor, Katniss tipped her head at Cressida, pointed towards the hallway that she assumed led to the attached house. She got an absent nod in reply, and before anyone else could speak up, or tell them she was coming with her, she headed down it.

It felt...weird, she realised, as she opened a door and stepped into what would have been an elegant front room if it hadn't been a shamble of broken furniture, dead flower arrangements and tossed paperwork. Of all the times she and Peeta had spent together, it had always been in a place dictated by the Capitol, or one that 'belonged' to her. But this, here, was his. Even in the state it was in, it was _his_.

She moved straight through the room, into a foyer identical to the ones she'd already seen in the other Capitol houses. It had the same passageway to the kitchen, the same stairs that led to a second floor, the same alcove that she knew housed the doorway to a bathroom - the only difference she'd seen so far beyond the superficial was the direct entrance to the bakery in the other room.

Heading for the stairs, Katniss slid her hand along the smooth wooden banister as she climbed them, imagining Peeta doing the same thing when he lived here. Had he ever been allowed to slide down it like Prim had done in the Victor's Village house a week after they moved in? Had he ever crouched behind the rungs, and shot makeshift rubber bands at his brothers, like she knew Gale's younger brothers had often done to him in their home in the Seam? Had he laughed here, cried here, sung here, fought here?

Her footsteps were quiet as she began to move down the hallway at the top, glancing in the first doorway quickly, before going to the next one. And it was this one that made her pause, take a second look.

Something told her that, once upon a time, it had been his.

Katniss pushed the door open wider, tried to ignore the mess that threatened to overwhelm the otherwise simple room. Furniture-wise, it had nothing but a bed, a wooden bureau, and a desk that looked older than President Snow himself, but that wasn't what told her that this had been Peeta's room.

It was the warm orange colour that bloomed on the wall beside the bed, its hue an almost perfect recreation of the sunset Peeta had once told her he was so fond of.

Pushing aside the remnants of a pillow that had been torn to shreds, the feathers from inside strewn across the satiny sheets, Katniss lowered herself to the mattress, hugging her arms around her. Up here, it was silent, nothing to distract her from her own thoughts. And in the first moment of solace and quiet she'd had since they escaped the sewers, she felt the pricking of tears at the corner of her eyes. Her first instinct was to stop them, to brush them aside, but the harder she fought, the harder they fell, until she finally gave in. Tears for the Peeta who couldn't remember her, tears for the injuries Finnick had suffered, tears for the loss of Boggs, tears for the men and women who'd given their life for hers on a mission that wasn't even real.

No matter what happened, they were all on her.

She didn't know how long she sat there for, only knew that the tears had run dry, leaving their streaky remnants on her cheeks. She didn't even have the energy to wipe them clean, just continued to sit and stare at the wall, trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last two days.

"Are you alright?"

Her head swiveled towards the door, surprised to see Peeta standing there awkwardly. Flour coated the left side of his jacket and clung to his knee, and his own eyes were red-rimmed.

"I'm fine," she muttered, finally rubbing at her cheeks with her sleeve.

"You've been crying."

She shrugged, unwilling to actually admit it out loud.

"Do you mind if I come in?" His voice sounded hollow, empty, and she vaguely wondered if that's how she sounded too.

"It's your room," Katniss replied, and the surprise on his face was obvious. He stepped inside, crossing the room before gingerly sitting at the edge of the bed.

"How did you know it was mine?"

"The wall," she said, gesturing towards it limply, and he nodded.

"Right. I guess you know my favourite colour."

"Yeah."

He coughed lightly. "What's...what's yours?"

She blinked. "You want to know my favourite colour?"

"Yeah. I mean, I knew it before, right?"

"Right. It's, um, green."

He was quiet for a moment, rested his hands on his knees. "Like the woods in Twelve." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, one so confident she wondered whether, deep down, he really _did_ remember her favourite colour.

"That's right."

"I remember those woods so clearly," Peeta murmured. "It all felt so...real, so natural compared to here, to what I grew up with. Even compared to the other Districts, there's something about Twelve that just sticks with me." He glanced across at her before his eyes darted away just as quickly. "Maybe that's a remnant of my feelings for you, embedded in there somewhere."

_A remnant of my feelings. He could have stabbed her in the heart and it would have hurt less._

"Maybe," she replied, hoping that she sounded normal, and not as though she was dying on the inside.

They sat in silence, nothing but their own breaths, and the faint murmurs of conversation downstairs to break it. She opened her mouth a half a dozen times to speak, before stopping, realising she had no idea what to say.

In the end, it was Peeta who spoke first.

"I can't believe what's happened here."

"You don't know what's happened here," Katniss countered softly.

"No, but I have an idea." An edge of bitterness crept through the grief she knew he was trying to contain, had been trying to hide by talking about something as irrelevant as their favourite colours. "After all, I've become pretty well acquainted with the practices of the Capitol."

"Peeta, don't."

He shrugged, moved his hands so they were twisted together limply in his lap, then lifted his gaze to her abruptly. "I know I asked you if you met my family, but did I ever tell you much about them? When we were together?" he burst out.

Startled by the sudden change in direction, Katniss frowned, then nodded. "Yeah. A little. You, uh, said you weren't really close."

"No." Peeta's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. "My Dad was fine, if a little absent with his emotions. My brothers - we got along alright, but they were more interested in going out and partying than I ever was. Mom...I was never what she wanted. I was always a disappointment. After the last time I saw her, she sent my brother to tell me that I gave the family a bad name, that I wasn't to visit them again. And I don't even know why."

Katniss felt her heart sink, and thought she had a good idea of why, but she didn't want to say. She didn't want to say that it was probably her, that he'd once reluctantly admitted that his mother had been bitterly opposed to their being together.

And she especially didn't want to say anything now, when her blood was beginning to boil at the way he'd been treated so callously by his family.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," she murmured; it was the only thing she could think of to say. "They aren't worthy of you."

"Weren't."

She shook her head, and this time her hand shot out and covered his own involuntarily. She felt them shake slightly under hers. "Don't say things like that, Peeta. You don't know that that's the case."

"But look at this place." He was staring down at their hands, didn't even bother to look up, or raise his voice. "It's been tossed from top to bottom. I saw Gale in the kitchen, heard him speaking to Cressida. There's blood in there, and it has to be one of theirs. They're gone, and it's my fault."

Reaching over with her free hand to cup his chin, she turned his face towards her. "They might not be here, but it doesn't mean they're _gone_. Don't blame yourself for something that hasn't even happened yet."

"But they're still not here."

"And what were you supposed to do about that? You just told me your mother told you never to come back here! Even if you _could_ have, they told you not to. They turned you away, Peeta."

"But-"

"No buts. You can't beat yourself up over something you have no control over. In the last few months, you've dragged me out of depths I never thought I'd be able to escape. You might not remember it, but you have. And I'm not going to let you go down that road yourself."

"Then you can't do that either."

Katniss blinked, dropped her hand in surprise. "What does that mean?"

"I found you in here after you'd obviously been crying. You're blaming yourself for Boggs and Castor and the rest, aren't you? You're blaming yourself for Finnick's arm. You're blaming yourself for things that they decided to do themselves, regardless of the consequences."

"I'm…" This time, she cut herself off. He was right. And while she was sitting here blaming herself for them, she was telling _him_ not to blame himself for whatever might - or might not have - happened to his family. They were each doing exactly what the other was telling them not to. "You're right," she finally admitted. "But I can't help it-"

"Katniss, Peeta."

They both looked up to see Gale in the doorway, his hands braced against the polished wood. She had to hand it to him - his eyes only lingered briefly on their joined hands that still rested on Peeta's lap. "Cressida wants you guys downstairs. They found a comm in the office above the bakery, and Pollux is trying to crack into the Rebel channels. She thinks it's better we stick together, just in case we hear anything."

"Okay." She removed her hand from Peeta's, stood up, then looked at him expectantly. "We'll come down."

"No," Peeta shook his head. "Just...give me a few minutes alone. Please."

Katniss glanced at Gale, and he shrugged. "Fine, just don't take too long. Safety in numbers and all that."

"I won't," Peeta assured him, and while his voice sounded strong and confident, Katniss noted he was careful not to look at either of them.

She followed Gale out, hating that she could never seem to return to him the comfort he'd given her so many times.

* * *

It took most of the day, and it wasn't until the sun gave way to night that they finally cracked through. The line was fuzzy, and they had no luck in attempting two-way communication, but the sound of the chatter was enough for them to hear, enough for them to understand.

The Rebels were advancing, and come dawn, they would be upon the City Circle.

It was obvious from the chatter that the Rebels had been able to tap into the Capitol's lines from Two, and the terse instructions and updates they heard made it clear that Capitolites were abandoning their homes in droves, heading towards the President's mansion, and what they saw as sanctuary.

Katniss couldn't believe their luck.

The plan fell into their lap almost as though someone else had made it on their behalf, their trip towards the center suddenly made so much easier. Retain their current disguises, and follow the crowds as though they were doing the same, as though they were heading for safety. It would lead them right onto the path to Snow's front door, and as soon as the Rebels arrived and - no doubt - panic ensued, she'd sneak away, and get inside.

And she'd kill Snow.

They slept in rotation throughout the night, waiting for the first sign of daybreak, always on alert in case someone came for them.

To their surprise, no one did.

* * *

They split into pairs - Cressida and Pollux, Finnick and Peeta, Katniss and Gale - and slid back out the bakery door, unsurprised to see citizens already on the move, some bundled up in coats against the freezing weather, others seemingly dressed in whatever had first come to hand - flimsy nightgowns, rain slickers, stilettos, feather-lined boots. The faces of those around them were a combination of fear, of confusion, of disbelief, of annoyance.

_How rude of those Rebels to ruin a perfectly good day to stay indoors by the fire._

Katniss kept an eye out for the other pairs - Peeta never far from her thoughts - and made sure Gale was by her side at all times. But the closer they got to the center of the Capitol, the thicker the crowd got, and the harder it was to keep track of the others. Soon, the line of sight she had on Peeta was gone as he got swallowed in the melee, and she hated not knowing where he was.

And then, with the mansion in her sights, the sound of gunfire and hand to hand combat began to echo loudly through the streets.

_The Rebels were getting closer._

The movement of the crowd - sudden and frantic at the clashing of Rebels and Peacekeepers - carried her along, dragged her away from Gale, pulling them in opposite directions. She heard him yelling her nickname, but her own terror clamped her mouth shut, not willing to run the risk of the crowd recognising her before she could do her job, to do the only thing that one day might allow her to think that everything that had happened before now would be worth it.

She continued forward, her focus intent on the pretty ironwork in the distance that formed a distinctive barrier between the Mansion grounds and the city itself. Behind her, she could still hear the sounds of fighting, of yelling - and then it was pierced by the weird mechanical clanking that she now immediately associated with the detonation of pods.

Her heart clenched as screaming began to fill the air.

Apparently the prevention of Rebels reaching the City Center was of more importance to Snow than the lives of the city's own citizens.

Katniss tightened the cloak around her, drew the hood closer to her face. She couldn't afford to get distracted by the sounds around her, the potential of more loss of life, kept her gaze on the fence ahead of her.

And what she saw when she drew close enough made her stop in her tracks.

Dozens upon dozens of children milled on the other side of the ironwork, many of them still in nightclothes, wandering around like they were lost. Her brow furrowed for a moment, unsure of what was happening. _Why were there children there? What were they doing? Where were their parents?_

"He's using them as a shield."

She spun around on her heel to find Peeta close behind her, his own dark blue cloak shrouding him. If she didn't see those eyes in her sleep every night, she never would have picked him out of a crowd.

"What...what do you mean?"

"Snow." His voice was low, rough. "He invited all the children inside first, for their 'safety'."

"How do you know that?"

His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek jumping. "I heard it on the street. A couple of old men complaining that they weren't allowed in yet. But _we_ know why."

Katniss swallowed heavily, glanced back over her shoulder towards the groups of children. "He's using them so the Rebels won't attack the mansion."

Peeta nodded, the disgust clear on his face. "I figured he'd try and escape, run away with his tail between his legs. Instead, he's done something even worse. What if the fighting still gets too close, injures some of them? He doesn't even care."

"He puts children into an Arena to kill each other," Katniss reminded him, and he sighed.

"Yeah, I know." Peeta chewed on his lower lip and he looked surreptitiously around them - most people were still distracted by the sounds of fighting moving closer, but he was still careful to keep his face hidden. "Where's Gale?"

"We got separated in the crowd - when the fighting started, people got frantic. He got carried one way, I got carried another. I have no idea where he is. What about Finnick?"

"He was struggling, now that we've run out of the morphling - I set him up in an abandoned shop not too far from here. Hopefully Gale's safe, and the others are too, wherever they are." He reached up, rubbed at eyes that still looked tired and red. "Look, you should go, try and make your way in there. At least get to the fence, see if there's any clear way in."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll keep an eye out for you, make sure you're safe, that you don't get hurt."

She visibly started - it sounded so much like something the Peeta from before would have said, the Peeta who loved her, that she was taken aback. And then a movement in the sky caught her eye before she could reply, and she looked up.

"It's a hovercraft," she murmured in surprise, pointing upwards towards the shuttle that was heading towards them.

"Then obviously I was wrong about him not trying to escape," Peeta sighed, looking up. "Maybe the kids were just a distraction until it could arri-"

He cut himself off as a door on the underside of the hovercraft opened, as dozens of small silver parachutes began to lazily drift down towards the front gardens of the mansion; the outstretched hands of the children reached for them eagerly, excitedly. Anyone who had ever seen the Games knew what silver parachutes meant.

 _Presents_.

She watched as they began to laugh, as those who were lucky enough to grab one began to open them in delight. And then it took her a moment to realise what was happening, why Peeta had suddenly grabbed her tightly to him, dragging them to the ground as the road shook beneath them, and her ears began to ring and light flashed before her eyes. It wasn't until she felt raining debris pounding against her that the realisation hit.

"They were bombs?" She gasped in horror, dragging her head up and away from Peeta's chest to stare back towards the mansion, flickering flames and plumes of smoke now rising up into the air.

"Yeah, they were bombs," Peeta murmured shakily, gingerly pulling them both back up to their feet. "But...what...I don't understand? What's the benefit to him from this? It's just going to incite people even more!"

Katniss couldn't take her eyes away from the children still standing, all in shock and covered in blood and dirt, some injured, others crying, more still screaming for help. She couldn't look at the ground though, where she knew bodies of children would be lying already beyond help.

And that was why she saw the long blonde braid swinging down the back of a grey medic uniform running through the now opened gates with a group of others in similar garb.

"Wha- _Prim_?" She stepped forward almost involuntarily, felt Peeta's hand grip onto hers to keep her steady. "Is that Prim?"

"Where?"

"Through there!" She pointed almost blindly, and he shifted slightly, getting a better line of sight.

"Yeah, it is." His own voice wavered. "Isn't she a little young to be out here?"

Katniss nodded, fear welling in her chest. She didn't like the idea of her sister here, didn't like the idea of her being anywhere near the fighting. Why wasn't she in Thirteen?

"She should be back in Thirteen!" Katniss screamed. "I know they're training her to be a medic, but she's too young to be out here! She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be here. She should be-" She cut herself off as the door of the hovercraft opened again, as more parachutes rained down.

She felt her legs move without a second thought, and began to run, not even caring that Peeta was still grasping tightly to her hand.

And then the world exploded.

* * *

_She was a broken shell, empty and numb, the scorched, blistered and puckered skin the medical staff had stitched back together the only thing keeping her whole._

_She couldn't sleep, and when she did, it only dragged her down into nightmares of mutts and fire and flood and of a sky raining with bombs._

_She blindly wandered halls at night, cocooned herself in blankets, tucked herself away in cupboards and corners and under beds; she stared at the floor, at the ceiling, counted the individual threads that kept her warm - at least on the outside. On the inside, she was frozen._

_Hours turned into days, days into weeks._

_She had no idea where Peeta was._

_Prim was dead._

_She was better off dead too._

* * *

He stared out the window, at the gentle flakes of snow that drifted down from the grey clouds that blanketed the city. It gave a feeling of calm, of sereneness; the fires were out, the smoke dissipated, the debris gone, the streets empty of the people who had converged on them only three weeks before.

But he still felt like every part of him was on fire.

Peeta's skin stung, and itched - he clenched his hands together tightly into fists in his lap to stop himself from clawing at his arms and his forehead, from undoing all the good work the medical staff had done to heal him as best they could, in facilities that had been partially destroyed by exploding pods.

_Pods, bombs, explosions._

It was still hard for him to comprehend everything that had happened in those final moments, those moments between he and Katniss talking about Snow, to the devastation that had taken little more than a minute to change the world they knew.

Because in that moment, Prim was gone.

He'd been told afterwards, while he was still in the medical ward, while his skin was being grafted back together and his wounds being stitched, what had happened. How a Capitol hovercraft had come, loaded with silver parachutes that released two rounds of bombs, the first killing a number of children that had been outside the mansion, the second - more lethal - round killing those that remained, and the medics from Thirteen that had rushed in to help them. Over a hundred children had died, over twenty medics.

And one of those had been Prim.

He hadn't seen Katniss since he'd dragged her to the ground a second time, desperately trying to put out the fire that had overwhelmed her cloak and turned her into a mass of flames. That had been how he'd garnered his own injuries - his arms enveloping her, his head trying to nudge the hood of her cloak to fall back. She'd been crying, screaming for Prim, sobs wracking her body while the flames engulfing her slowly died out.

She'd cried herself into unconsciousness and he'd felt utterly helpless.

After the fighting had finished, Snow had been taken into custody, officially thrown out of office, and Coin was now ruling the country - but until her office was finalised, and the fate of Snow determined, Peeta and the rest of the Star Squad were stuck waiting for the end in a city none of them wanted to be in. Forced to stay in a place that filled every inch of him with dread.

He'd been sequestered in the mansion itself.

The knock on the door was quiet, almost hesitant, and Peeta turned to face it, not moving from his seat by the window. It opened slowly, a shock of bronze hair appearing before anything else.

"Peeta?"

"I'm back here," Peeta murmured.

Finnick stepped inside, his hair a dishevelled mess and his arm encased in thick white bandaging, strapped close to his chest. Or, at least, what was left of his arm.

There was to be no false limb for Finnick Odair, the Capitol mechanics lab the hardest hit of all the medical facilities from the fighting.

Finnick crossed the room silently, and sat in the chair across from him, the shadows and lines on his face clear for Peeta to see. They hadn't seen each other in two weeks, not since Peeta had been released from the ward and sent to stay at the mansion. At first they didn't say anything, just studied each other, taking in and observing each other's injuries.

"When did they let you out?" Peeta finally asked.

"I got to the mansion yesterday. They've done all they can for me now."

"How...how is it?"Peeta watched as Finnick's throat bobbed as he swallowed, while his friend stared down at the arm that was missing.

"It aches. Like it should still be there, like it still _is_ there. I keep expecting it to be, and then I look down and there's nothing but empty space." He said it hollowly, and there was an emptiness to his voice that Peeta had never heard before.

"I'm so sorry."

Finnick shook his head, glanced back up at him. "Don't be sorry. You kept me going - I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." A flash of pain crossed his face, and his good arm reached up hesitantly to touch his opposite bicep, where it curved and rounded off instead of tapering down to an elbow, a forearm, a hand. "How are you?"

Peeta shrugged and looked outside, leant his forehead against the cool glass. "I want to tear my skin off," he said simply.

"But the, uh, grafts look like they've taken okay."

Peeta shifted his head, looked down at his bare arms, and the patchwork of colours that covered them. His skin had always been pale, but now it was stitched together with some patches that were shades lighter than his natural tone, others a blooming baby pink.

"They're fine. They just itch, and I want to scratch them until they tear off, but then it would make all the work they did pointless, right?"

"Yeah." Finnick's fingers continued to absently brush over the stump of his arm, his eyes beginning to glaze over. Peeta was aware he was still on high dosages of morphling following surgery on his arm, but he knew it wasn't just the medication that was affecting his friend.

"Have you been able to speak to Annie yet?" he asked gently, and with the sound of her name, Finnick's eyes refocused.

"I did, finally, just before," he replied. "I was going to ram a comm down someone's throat if they didn't let me speak to her today. Three weeks of waiting, of no contact, and for what reason?" The frustration in his voice was clear, but he took a deep breath to calm himself, closed his eyes before opening them again. "But, uh, that's why I came to find you, actually."

"Is she okay?"

Finnick nodded. "She's pregnant."

Peeta blinked. "What?"

"Annie. She's pregnant."

"I…" Peeta's mouth opened and closed in shock. "Oh, wow, Finn. Congratulations." He reached forward, rested his hand on Finnick's good shoulder. "That's great news."

"Is it?" Finnick's voice had gone blank again. "Is it really? Is bringing a baby into the world, who'd have two parents who've experienced what we have, really a good idea?"

For a moment, Peeta was stunned into silence. Finnick - positive Finnick, the man with a wink and a smile for everyone, who had already gone through so much and still been able to hold his head up high - was saying something like this? "What the hell? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look at us, Peet," Finnick implored. "I'm missing an arm, an arm that pains me even though it's not there. We've been through three Arena's between us, been through a war, our...our bodies used and abused for others gain. Annie is...Shit, Peet, we're so damaged. Physically, mentally, emotionally...how can we be parents?"

"Because you _can_ ," Peeta replied emphatically, leant forward in his seat until he was all but on the edge of it. "What does missing an arm or going through a war have to do with this? You and Annie are two of the strongest people I've ever met. Yes, you've been through all of that, but you're still both _here_. You're both still alive, you both still have each other. You have hope that better times are ahead - there's no more Games, Snow is gone, you can go home to Four, and never have to worry about any of that ever again."

"But..." he murmured, trailing off, conflicting emotions clear on his face.

Peeta shook his head again. "Finnick, it doesn't matter what's in the past - both you and Annie only have to worry about the future. I know you'll make wonderful parents. Look at all you've already done to look out for each other."

He could see the tears begin to pool in the corner of Finnick's eyes, as they started to track down his cheeks. "Are you sure?" He croaked. "I...I was so excited when she told me, and then I-"

Peeta nodded. "Stick with the excitement. This is an amazing thing - you're welcoming new life. You're bringing a baby into a world where they'll never have to worry about their name being written onto a slip of paper and put into a bowl."

The tears were free-flowing now, pouring out of sea-green eyes rimmed in red. "You're right," Finnick blurted. "There's no more Games. We can do this."

"Absolutely you can do this," Peeta assured him. He squeezed his shoulder slightly. "You're a lucky man, Finnick Odair. You've got yourself a family, one who is going to love you for who you are for the rest of your life."

Finnick nodded, wiped at his face with his good arm. "And what about you? Have you spoken to Katniss? Have you heard anything about your family?"

Peeta shook his head slowly. The idea of he and Katniss was still something he was trying to comprehend, and as for his family... "That's a no to both of those things. But right now isn't about me, it's about you. Let's just focus on and celebrate Baby Odair, okay?"

The smile was slow to creep across Finnick's face, but when it did, it was stunning.

* * *

Later, as he lay in bed and willed sleep to come, Peeta knew not telling Finnick the news he'd received only that morning had been the right decision. He could still barely believe it, let alone blurt it out to a man who'd just found out he was going to be a father. And while he'd managed to block it out for most of the day, now, with nothing but the space between wake and sleep to keep him company, he could think of little else.

His family hadn't been captured and tortured by Snow. Instead, as soon as word began to leak that Peeta was a part of the Rebellion, they'd abandoned the bakery in the middle of the night, had gone into hiding. The damage to the bakery had occurred after they'd gone, after they'd run.

But by the time he found out what had happened, by the time the news had made its way to him, his parents and brothers had already been killed by a detonated pod during the final hours of fighting. Snow may have not killed them directly, but they were dead regardless.

He was officially all alone in the world.

* * *

The hour struck eight, the bongs of what she'd come to learn was called a grandfather clock echoing through the otherwise quiet hallways. They were empty of people and blessedly without superfluous noise - there was no one coming or going, no one bringing her food and trying to make her eat, no doctors coming to see her to ask how she was healing, to keep her updated on events she didn't care about. Even if someone did happen to venture across her path, they left her alone, the ghost of a mockingjay who was now nothing but a broken girl, mourning the loss of her sister.

It was because of that solitude that, over the last three weeks, Katniss had come to prefer the halls of the mansion at night more than anything or anywhere else. She almost hoped that one day, she'd get so lost she'd never get found.

She trailed her hand across gleaming mahogany side tables, scowled at portraits of Presidents past. She stumbled over the turned up corner of a thick carpet, wondered if she could wrap herself into the silken drapes framing a window and disappear from everything. She wandered down staircases, cursed the extravagance of a house owned by a man who put power above all else.

But tonight she turned down a hallway she hadn't ventured down before, and came to an abrupt halt.

A set of double doors stood in front of her, gilded and golden and guarded by two men in patched together uniforms. Not from the Capitol, or from Thirteen, but another District allied with the Rebels. The seals on the arms of the jackets looked familiar, but they were worn, almost faded into nothingness, and it was hard for her to make out the symbols that dictated the District's responsibility.

But it wasn't the seals on the jackets that made her heart beat that little bit faster.

It was the unknown behind the doors.

"What are you guarding?" she demanded, trying to infuse even the slightest bit of authority into a voice that had forgotten how to be used.

"President's orders," one said firmly.

"I don't care about President Snow's orders," Katniss snapped.

"Our orders come from President Coin," the other replied, and Katniss paused, the reminder crashing down upon her. _Of course. Of course she is._

"I don't care either way. I want to see what's behind those doors." She didn't know _why_ exactly, other than that a burning need to get behind those doors had suddenly filled her.

"No admittance."

"I _don't care_ ," she snarled. "I want to go inside. I-"

A sharp burst of static sounded from a comm on the first guard's belt, and he reached down to grasp it, not taking his eyes off of her for a moment. He lifted it to his ear, listened to the person on the other end of the line.

"Are you certain, Commander Paylor?"

 _Paylor. Paylor._ Katniss racked her brain, filtering through months of strangers, of soldiers, of rebels. And then it came to her - the strong, steadfast woman who'd shown her through District Eight when she'd filmed propos. She'd seemed committed, dedicated. Reliable.

The guard grunted his assent, clipping the comm back to his belt. "Commander Paylor has advised you're to be admitted entrance. You have twenty minutes."

"How did she know I was here?" Katniss demanded.

He lifted an eyebrow, a sharp line of jet black. "Cameras, Miss Everdeen. Ex-President Snow had them installed everywhere. This is one area we've retained surveillance around the clock."

_Surveillance. Of course._

Both men stepped aside, allowed her to open the doors. The moment she did, her senses were assaulted with the overpowering scent of roses, and she almost gagged.

But she refused to let that stop her.

Katniss moved down a short flight of steps, vaguely heard the doors close behind her. But she wasn't paying attention to them anymore - she was too busy taking in row after row after row of roses in a dizzying array of colours. Bright purple, pale pink, cool teal, lemon yellow, blood red. But more than any other, it was a glimmering, shining white that dominated.

A white that set her veins to ice.

She skirted a trellis covered in climbing roses, stepped through a small circle of stones that made up a wider pavement.

And jolted to a stop.

She should have known he'd be here.

His skin was sallow, suddenly aged in only the few weeks since his empire had come crashing down. His hands rested in his lap, shackled together and holding onto a white handkerchief, while his plump lips - flecked with blood - curled into what she could only describe as a smirk.

"My dear Miss Everdeen, what a delight," he began, his beady eyes appraising her. "I'd hoped so dearly to see you again before I met my inevitable demise. It appears as though my wish has been granted, and in my own personal jail cell, no less."

Katniss tried to swallow the lump that had lodged itself into her throat. "This is your jail cell?"

"Our dear President Coin seems to want to set a precedent," Snow said smoothly. "If she treats me with _respect_ , no doubt she'll be treated with the same shall she ever...fall from grace. But she's never allowed me visitors before. How kind of you to come."

"I'm not here to be kind," she whispered. "I never wanted to see you again."

He shook his head. "You didn't want to see me, and yet you got past my guards? As puppy like as I'm certain they are, I doubt they let you through freely." He coughed slightly, lifted the handkerchief to pat at his mouth. It was dotted in blood, bright and stark against the white. "Tell me what you wish to say to me, Miss Everdeen. I'm certain there's plenty burning up inside of you."

She shook her head, felt her jaw clench. "You killed my _sister_ ," she hissed. "You took Peeta _away_ from me. I could kill you."

"Then maybe you should," he shrugged. "But I think it's important we talk first, before any rash actions are taken, don't you think?"

"We have nothing to talk about."

"I suppose we don't," he mused, and part of her knew he was _enjoying_ himself right now. _You might be able to take the presidency away from the man, but you couldn't take the President out of him._ "You'd have nothing to share, as from what you've said, you appear to be completely oblivious."

"I'm not oblivious to anything," Katniss snapped. "I was there when those bombs exploded! I was there when Peeta came back from the Capitol with no memory of me, all because of you!"

Snow shook his head. "Oh fine, I'll take responsibility for Mr Mellark. But those bombs, Miss Everdeen? You really think that if I still had a working hovercraft at my disposal, that I would have used it to shower silver parachutes down on unsuspecting children and aid workers, instead of escaping as soon as I could?"

"Nothing you ever did or do surprises me," she spat.

He sighed, as though filled with great disappointment. "Then you're not as smart as I gave you credit for." He leant forward as much as he could on the stone bench, his eyes boring into her. "Tell me, do you really know everyone you're working with? Do you really understand their motivations?" He lifted a hand, pointed first at her, and them himself. "Should we have been looking at them, instead of being so solely focused each other?"

"I don't know what you mean." But part of Katniss _did_ know what he meant. There wasn't a single bone in her body that trusted Coin any more than she did Snow.

He pursed his lips together. "I believe you do, Miss Everdeen, but you just don't want to admit it. I think if you really thought about it, if you looked beneath the surface, you'd see what you were looking for." He sat back, crossed one leg over the other. "I'm not the only one who's committed acts of war in this Rebellion, and it would do you well not to forget that."

"Everything I've done, I've done for a reason," she choked out, her voice hoarse from holding back tears that threatened to escape.

"Oh, I don't mean _you_." He laughed genially, as though they were old friends sharing a joke, and his hand shook slightly as he lifted the handkerchief back to his mouth. "But I suppose I need to leave some things for you to determine yourself. Can't give the whole game away myself now, can I?"

Although her mind was whirling with everything that he'd said, trying to make even a modicum of sense of it all, wanting to ask him what he meant, what he was trying to say, she knew she couldn't be in his presence for a moment longer.

So Katniss spun on her heel and ran.

* * *

The door slammed behind her, the two guards standing to attention at either side visibly startling with the force of it, but she didn't stop. She needed to get as far away from Snow as possible, to try and get the smell of roses out of her senses, to get his words out of her head.

" _Do you really know everyone you're working with? Do you really understand their motivations? Should we have been looking at them, instead of being so solely focused each other?"_

Katniss ran, kept on running until she'd run herself in circles, until she was out of breath and panting, and her skin felt like it was stretched across her bones so tightly it felt like it was ready to tear.

She flew around a corner, skidding on the over polished wood, and didn't see the person coming from the opposite direction until she'd rammed headlong into them - she tumbled to the floor, her tender palms reaching out to catch her fall. She winced, pain shooting up both of her arms, but she ignored it to push back the lank hair that fell in front of her eyes, ready to snarl and scowl at whoever it was. And then her jaw dropped, her heart stopped.

_It was Peeta._

She crawled across the floor, the pain in her arms forgotten, over to where he was sprawled on his back, slowly pulling himself into a sitting position.

"Katniss?" He squinted, obviously trying to determine if it was her in the dim light of the hall. "Is that you?"

"It's me," she whispered, her throat catching. She stopped just short of touching him, though she wanted to, just to make sure he was real. _Was he real? Was he really there?_ "Are you real?"

"Of course I am," he murmured. "I didn't know you were here."

She nodded, words taking a few moments to form. "I didn't know you were here either. I...I thought you were gone. They just kept telling me that you were recovering, wouldn't tell me where you were."

"I've been in the left wing of the mansion for two weeks," Peeta told her quietly. "They sent me here after they finished with my skin grafts."

She looked down at his arms then, at the way his skin was patched together like hers, and her mind flashed back to the way he'd tried to smother the flames that had engulfed her. She reached out, clasped his hands in hers, her mind screaming _real real real_ when flesh touched flesh. "I'm sorry, Peeta."

"I'm sorry too," he apologised, and his hand turned until his fingers laced through hers. She welcomed the touch, even though she knew it was just a friendly gesture in a moment of compassion, then startled as his hand tightened around hers. "And I'm sorry about-"

"Don't," she begged. _Please don't mention her, please don't mention her. I couldn't handle it._ "Please, just...don't."

He nodded respectfully, and they sat in silence for a moment, Katniss not willing to say anything, and Peeta refusing to push. With a gentle sigh, he pulled them both to their feet, though he kept her hands in his. "Let me take you back to your room. You shouldn't be out here, and you need to sleep."

"I don't want to."

"You need to," He said firmly, and his jaw was tight with tension. "We both need to."

"But-"

"Katniss, how much have you slept since you got here?"

_Not enough. Never enough. Sleep was where the nightmares lurked._

Knowing, deep down, that he was right - and not wanting to fight with him after seeing him for the first time in weeks - Katniss turned and led Peeta back to her room without a word. She reluctantly let go of his hands and pushed open the door, made her way over to the bed and crawled into it. She pulled the covers up to underneath her chin, and looked back towards him - he looked lost, alone, afraid, she knew there was only one thing she wanted to say to him. He might not be able to remember the first time she said it to him, but she knew she'd never forget.

"Peeta, will you...will you stay with me? Please?" Her voice faltered before she picked it up again. "I don't want to be alone right now. I just need a friend to be here. And we're...we're friends, right?"

Katniss could see the indecision on Peeta's face, in the way he looked out towards the hallway, the way his feet shuffled nervously against the floorboards. And when she'd all but convinced herself that he would go, that he'd leave her here alone, he surprised her by nodding and closing the door behind him.

He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the bed beside her, though he was careful to stay above the covers, careful to leave a space between them. He turned on his side to face her, a thin stream of light from the gap in the drapes drawing a line down his cheek. And he smiled softly.

"Yeah, of course we're friends."

It was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep.

* * *

Katniss woke the next morning, alone and cold against the chill of the morning air that crept through the open window. It made her heart clench, knowing that it was only open because Peeta had been there, and sometime during the night he'd needed the fresh air to be able to sleep. But he was gone again.

At least she hadn't had any nightmares.

She was just reaching down to yank the covers over her head, prepared to wrap herself in them until she couldn't see a shred of light and hopefully fall back into uninterrupted unconsciousness, when she saw the envelope lying on the floor near the door.

She pushed back the sheets, kicked at them with her feet until they were a jumbled mess by the foot of the bed and stumbled across the wooden floorboards. She dropped to the ground, rested her back against the door and picked up the envelope, tearing at it with little regard to what might be inside.

It wasn't from Peeta, like a small part of her had hoped. No, it was a summons - short and sharp and to the point.

_President Coin requests your attendance at a special meeting at 10am in the Library._

And though it said 'request', Katniss knew that it was an order.

Glancing at the ornate clock on the wall, she noted she'd only been given fifteen minutes notice - _not that it mattered, what else did she have to do?_ \- and wondered whether she should change out of the clothes she'd already been wearing for two days.

She figured no one would care, because she certainly didn't.

Twenty minutes later she was seated at a table with people she hadn't seen in weeks, people she'd never expected to see again, her clothes unchanged and her hair unbrushed. Annie, Finnick, Beetee, Johanna, Haymitch, along with the newly appointed President at the head, her dull grey eyes already fixated on Katniss.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've called you all together this morning," Coin began abruptly, rising to her feet, her arms ramrod straight at her sides. "I thought it best that you hear from me that a decision has been made in regards to the fate of former President Snow."

Katniss felt the shiver run through her as she remembered the way he'd looked the night before, his skin a sickly yellow, the flicks of blood that had clung to the corner of his mouth. The disdain in his voice, the disappointment. The _bemusement_.

"He's been in confinement, hasn't he?" she muttered, slumping down in her seat and dropping her head slightly. The choppy ends of her hair brushed her cheeks, the coarse ends abrasive against skin that, while not technically damaged, still felt as thin as paper.

"He has," Coin confirmed. "But last night a final decision was made about his punishment for years of damning crimes against the citizens of Panem, least of all his final act of terrorism in front of the Mansion last month." She paused, took in a large breath. "We have come to the conclusion that he is to be executed, this afternoon. And I thought it might be fitting for Miss Everdeen to have the honours."

No one said a word. Katniss felt her stomach twist as she looked up again in shock.

Coin stepped away from the table, folded her arms behind her back and began to make a slow circuit of the room. "I've been under the assumption, Miss Everdeen, that the death of Coriolanus Snow would be something you'd welcome, something that you'd see as 'fit'. I think it would only be right that the man who virtually sentenced you to death has his own life ended by you. What do you say? Do you accept?"

Katniss didn't know what to say. Here it was, her final goal, her entire aim for leading a group of men and women on a false quest, being handed to her on a silver platter. And she was hesitating.

"Miss Everdeen? I'll need an answer. There's no time to waste. If you're to complete this task, you'll need to meet with people to make yourself camera ready, and that will take time. It's going to be broadcast nationwide, and while I sympathise with your...injuries, I think it best we keep them from the rest of Panem, don't you?"

"You think it's smart to compliment her one minute, and put her down the next?" Johanna drawled, rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest.

"I'm not meaning any offence, Miss Mason. Simply thinking of what our nation would want to see of their Mockingjay. The one who's saved them." The words, much like anything else Coin said, were meant to be positive, but the tone said otherwise.

"I'll do it," Katniss agreed. "I've wanted him dead for as long as I can remember, so I'll do it. But I use my bow and arrow. Nothing else."

Coin nodded once. "I'll see that it's delivered to your room immediately after this meeting." She moved back to her seat, lowering herself into it with her impeccable posture still intact. "Thank you, Miss Everdeen. I'm certain we'll all feel much safer, and much happier, without a man like Snow in our country."

Beside Katniss, Haymitch snorted. "There ain't never going to be a way to completely get rid of people like Snow," he retorted. "If he's not around, someone else will be."

"And we'll deal with them in due time, Mr Abernathy," Coin said coolly, and Katniss could see the measured glare that they shared. "But there's one more matter that I wished to apprise you of before you left to return to your home Districts. It only made sense for all of you to know, while you were all together."

"Know what?" Finnick's voice was wary, and from across the other side of the table, Katniss could see his hand drop from the tabletop, and reach out for Annie's.

Coin rested her elbows on the table, steepled her fingers together. "I've decided that, at the time of the next Reaping, we'll have one final ceremony. Here, in the Capitol. For the children of Capitol citizens."

Katniss was certain you could have heard a pin drop in the moments after Coin's announcement.

"What?" Johanna blurted.

"Are you...are you trying to tell us you're holding another Hunger Games?" Finnick's voice was dangerously low.

"You can't do that!" Annie protested, her voice wavering with emotion.

"I can, and we will," Coin said firmly. "It's only fair that these Citizens realise and appreciate what the Districts went through for all those years. And the best way to do that is by hosting one final Hunger Games."

"But this is exactly what we were fighting against," Beetee said calmly, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Katniss eyed him warily for a moment, before straightening in her seat and turning to Coin. She could feel Haymitch watching her intently.

"And we have no say in this, don't get to put our opinions forward?"

"None," Coin said firmly. "The decision has been made. They will go ahead, and the Games history in the place of Panem will end with the 76th. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other Presidential matters to attend to - I'll see you all at the execution." She rose to her feet, and strode from the room, leaving 6 Victors stunned into silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading, for your kudos and comments. Each and every single one is so appreciated.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr, you can find me under the same username there too :)


	29. Chapter 29

The murmurs of the crowd filtered through the closed wooden doors, setting off a fresh round of butterflies in her stomach. With each yell, each chant, each cry for justice to be served, the nerves continued to build inside of her. She still hadn't fully been able to comprehend what was about to happen - in a matter of hours, she'd gone from being able to do nothing but think about Peeta and Prim, to being able to think of nothing but Snow.

Of ending his life in front of the entirety of Panem.

Steeling her resolve and trying to settle her nerves, Katniss took in a deep breath, focused on the intricately carved wood of the door and allowed Effie to make an unnecessary adjustment to the way her hair curled over her shoulder. There wasn't much they'd been able to do, not after the fire from the bombs had ravaged it, had barely made it salvageable.

Her prep team had made that perfectly clear to her not an hour before.

_She hadn't expected to see them again, had resolved herself to accept that they would have likely met the same fate as Cinna. But less than half an hour after Coin had swept from the library following her announcement, Katniss had found herself back in her room, and Venia, Flavius and Octavia had stumbled through the door, led by Effie, their tears of joy at seeing her alive mixed with their tears of horror at her skin, her hair, her fire ravaged body._

_They weren't the same people they used to be, that much was obvious, in their more subdued mannerisms, the way their clothes and hair and skin were far less adorned than they used to be. But deep down, the Capitol way still snuck through. Appearances, after all, were what made everyone love you, and their comments made it clear that they had a lot of work to get her there._

_They took her as close to Beauty Base Zero as they could without damaging her skin any more, managed to braid her hair as best they could while hiding the bald or singed spots that were a result of the bombs. And while they gently finished her makeup, they explained to her in hushed tones often interspersed with tears, that they were the only ones left, that thanks to advice from Plutarch before the Arena had blown, the three of them and Effie had gone into hiding with one of his contacts, an old stylist from years ago. That all the other prep teams and stylists and escorts were dead, put to death by Snow. He'd had no patience to determine those involved in the Rebellion, and those who weren't. In his eyes, they'd all become representative of one thing - the Games. And the Games meant Katniss Everdeen._

_It made her sick, made her stomach line itself with dread. But she refused to let herself accept responsibility for those deaths. They were on the shoulders of one person only, and that person was Snow._

_Effie was mostly silent, spent the majority of her time looking at the tablet she had in her hands, occasionally muttering to herself. While the hair was still bright purple, the dress was still outrageous, and the shoes were 6 inch stilts, there was something different about Effie. A vacantness. Her eyes, while bright, never seemed focused._

_Katniss wondered if it was finally realising the full extent of what Snow and the Capitol was responsible for - after only ever knowing the barest of Rebellion essentials - or going into seclusion for what would have been months, that had caused it._

_Finally, she was ready; her prep team tearfully hugged her and said they would see her soon before being escorted outside by Effie - the moment they were gone, Katniss let out a deep breath, relieved to have a moment of silence. She studied their work in the mirror, at the way they'd tried to make her into some semblance of the girl she used to be._

_She wondered if she'd ever be that girl again. If she'd ever want to be._

" _Hey Catnip."_

_Her eyes shifted until they were looking back into the room - in the mirror's reflection she could see Gale framed in the doorway._

" _Gale," she murmured. She hadn't seen him in all the weeks she'd been living in the mansion, had expected him to appear at some time or another. She'd been told he'd been shot in the arm twice during the fighting, but he'd been released from the medical ward far earlier than she had. Yet he still hadn't come to see her._

_She wondered if he had, would she be feeling the way she was now?_

" _Can I come in?"_

_Katniss shrugged. "If you want to."_

_He walked inside, his left hand gripped tightly around the bow Beetee had fashioned for her, a single arrow in the right. "I, uh, got asked to bring this to you. For the execution."_

_She nodded, but didn't turn around, kept looking at him through the mirror. "Why haven't I seen you before today?" It wasn't an accusation, but she could hear the accusatory tone in her voice regardless._

" _I'm sorry." Gale laid the bow and arrow on the bed, shoved his hands in his pockets. "I've been helping with the clean up. They said you were fine, that you just needed some time to heal."_

_Her lips pursed together. "You_ _ couldn't _ _see me, could you?" Katniss asked, and this time, her voice was icy._

_Gale clenched his jaw. "No," he finally admitted._

_The fear that had begun to bloom inside her the night before as she spoke to Snow suddenly exploded into life."Was it yours?" She blurted as she turned around, and he looked away, his shoulders lifting before dropping again despondently._

" _I don't know."_

" _But you and Beetee built one, didn't you? You built a prototype."_

_She'd never paid much attention when Gale and Beetee and the other assorted engineers had talked back in Thirteen. Hadn't really listened too intently when they'd talked about ways for them to attack Two, to attack the Capitol. Hadn't registered when they'd talked about different types of ammunition, different kinds of weapons. Different kinds of bombs._

_Bombs that had a two-pronged approach, a delayed reaction._

_Bombs like the one that had killed Prim._

_No, she hadn't paid enough attention. Not until President Snow had sat there and smiled as he dropped hints and made it clear that she'd been oblivious to what had been right under her nose._

_He looked back at her, sorrow in his eyes. "We did, but I don't know if-"_

" _It doesn't matter." Katniss cut him off, felt her hands clench into fists at her sides. "I doesn't matter if it was yours or not. I'm always going to think it was, because you helped create it."_

" _I had no idea Coin would use it for something like that!" Gale burst out. "Do you think if I had, I would have let her?"_

_The anger, and the grief, built up inside of her until it bubbled over. "_ _ Let _ _her? Gale, she was the damned leader of the District. She's the damned_ _ President _ _. Do you think she'd_ _ let _ _you stop her from doing anything?!" She shook her head. "You and Beetee designed it with the intention of taking it to Two."_

" _Only as a last resort," he argued. "I wanted to win this war, Katniss!"_

" _And we would have. We didn't need your bombs." Almost as quickly as the fire had come, it was gone again, and she felt herself deflate. "I can't speak to you right now."_

" _Right now? Or ever again?"_

_Katniss opened her mouth, closed it again, wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach as if to hold herself together. "I don't know," she finally admitted._

_She watched as his throat bobbed, as a muscle in his cheek twitched. "I'm sorry, Katniss. But I lost her too, you know - Prim was family to me as well."_

" _But she wasn't your only sister. She wasn't your only sibling," she croaked out._

_Whether it was fortuitous timing or not, Effie decided at that moment to burst back through the doors, her arms open wide. "Come now, Katniss, no more time for dilly-dallying!" Effie said brightly - almost_ _ too _ _brightly - and smiled flippantly at Gale. "It's a big, big, big day indeed, and we can't be late!"_

_No. She couldn't be late._

" _Katniss, can we talk about this later?" he begged, and she shook her head._

" _I don't want to talk about it ever again," she said firmly. "I...I need to go."_

_Gale stared at her for a moment, before nodding his head reluctantly. "Okay, Catnip. Just - shoot straight."_

_This time, her shoulders straightened, her eyes steely with intensity. "I will," Katniss said firmly, and followed Effie from the room._

_She didn't look back._

* * *

He stood as part of the group assembled on the balcony - Coin, front and centre, her shoulders straight and her hands folded calmly in front of her, the remaining Victors and members of the Star Squad flanking her. She looked proud, victorious.

Peeta wanted to throw her off the balcony with his bare hands.

The words Finnick had murmured in his ear not ten minutes before had turned his blood to ice. That Coin had told the remaining Victors that she had decided to host another Games, a Games with children from the Capitol, a new opportunity for children to kill each other just for sport, for entertainment. All to teach them a lesson. A _lesson_ to children who were just as innocent as every other child handpicked over 74 years.

Peeta had been devastated. All of that work, all of that Rebellion, and for what?

_Apparently absolutely nothing._

He watched as the doors across the courtyard below opened, as Snow was dragged out, his hands and feet bound in chains, the short grey stubble that had begun to cover his chin flecked with blood. The crowd booed and hissed; some yelled out abuse, curses; even more chanted Katniss' name over and over again. On the balcony, Annie's hand slipped into Finnick's, Johanna folded her arms across her chest, Cressida murmured discreetly into a comm. Coin didn't move a muscle.

The moment Snow was tied to the post in the middle of the square in front of the mansion, Katniss stepped outside, her posture ramrod straight, her eyes focused. Even from here, Peeta could see the determination on her face, the absolute concentration. Her eyes didn't waver from the target in front of her as she walked towards him, did nothing but stare Snow down the closer she got.

She got to her mark, nocked her lone arrow, and raised the bow. She stood there for a moment, as though taking in the importance of it, the seriousness of it, the _finality_ of it. And then she looked up. Right at Peeta.

And in a sense of absolute surety he knew he would never be able to explain, he knew what she wanted to do.

Peeta nodded once, and her head dipped slightly in recognition.

Her bow shifted, aimed.

He wasn't sorry to see Coin tumble, head over feet, over the balcony to the street below.

* * *

It was so quiet Peeta could practically hear every single tick of the old fashioned clock situated on the top of the fireplace mantle, every single movement of the hand as it made its way around the face.

_Tick, tick, tick_.

It was part of his routine now, had become part of it since the moment Katniss had loosed an arrow and sent it into the heart of President Coin, sending her to trial for murder. Four times a week, he sat in a study, tucked away in the corner of the Presidential mansion, and talked about how he was feeling, what he was thinking, how he was recovering, took part in round after round of what felt like useless memory testing. It wasn't something Peeta had particularly liked at first - because Prim had played such a huge part of his sessions back in Thirteen, each one made him think of her, made him think of the times she'd tried to jog his memory of Katniss with a million stories and jokes, and playful sisterly-like comments.

After a week of sessions that yielded no results and left Peeta feeling more miserable than when he'd started, he and Dr Aurelius had arrived at an unspoken truce - at least one out of the four sessions would be spent napping in their respective chairs, the silence golden to both of them. Therefore, in the other three sessions, they had to give at least some semblance of an impression that Aurelius was doing the job he'd been retrieved from Thirteen to do, and that Peeta was actually participating.

Slowly, as the sessions continued over the weeks, Peeta found that it began to get easier, began to feel a little less harrowing. They were still _bad_ , still made him talk about things he didn't want to talk about, but at least he didn't feel a sharp pain anymore when he thought of Prim; now, it was more a dull ache underneath his breastbone.

"So how are the nightmares going, Peeta?" Dr Aurelius finally ventured after close to ten minutes of silence, crossing his right leg over his left and settling more comfortably in his chair.

Peeta shrugged, brushed his palms along the thighs of his pants. Thought about how he'd hardly slept the night before for thinking of his family dying in the basement of one of their bakery suppliers. "They're okay."

"And your burns?"

"Still healing." _Same introductory questions and answers, all the time, every time._

"Are you still using the salve they gave you?"

"Yeah. It helps. The scars will never heal completely, but I guess...I guess I'm okay with that." Peeta blinked, surprised that he'd been so forthcoming. He'd yet to share with the doctor what the scars had begun to represent to him, but the words had tumbled out before he'd even realised they were there to be said.

The doctor's eyebrow raised in question. "You are?"

"Yeah. I…" He trailed off, but Aurelius nodded his head, encouraging Peeta to continue. He fidgeted nervously in his seat. "I think because each time I look down at them now, I'm no longer thinking of Prim."

"What are you thinking of, then?"

Peeta felt his heart beat a little harder in his chest, tracked his gaze back to the clock that continued to tick. "I, uh, think of Katniss."

Even from the corner of his eye, he could see the surprise on the doctor's face. "You do?"

"Yeah. I think of how I've got these because I saved her. That if I hadn't stopped her, she might have ended up like Prim as well."

"And you don't like the thought of that."

"No."

He spent a lot of time thinking about Katniss Everdeen, whether he wanted to or not. Whenever he wasn't in a session with Aurelius, he was in his room, had nothing to do _but_ think. While everyone else had gone - Finnick and Annie had returned to Four, Cressida and Pollux had relocated to Two to begin work on establishing a new Panem-wide Communications and Media Headquarters based there - he'd remained behind, with no home to go to. His own apartment had been obliterated during the fighting and while the bakery still stood, there was no way he could ever return there. And as the rest of Panem still saw him as the partner of Katniss Everdeen, the knowledge of his specific amnesia restricted to only those who already knew, they had all agreed he should stay in the Capitol, for appearances sake.

And for the continued sessions with Aurelius, of course.

But all that spare time meant he had nothing to do but think. And for hours upon hours he would rack his brain for thoughts and memories of Katniss, trying to find the connection that he'd obviously had with her at one time or another. He knew it was there - the occasional vague memory of her that surfaced unexpectedly, the weird flipping of his stomach and the burning in his chest every time he remembered that first kiss in the snow, the absolute loyalty he unconsciously felt whenever he heard someone speak ill of her, the knowledge that he'd followed her into a battle on a rogue mission, no questions asked.

And all of that from someone who was meant to be a stranger to him.

"How is she, anyway? Has she improved at all?" Peeta asked, shifting so that he was looking at Aurelius again.

"She's not well," Aurelius admitted. "She's still refusing to eat, spends most of her days staring out the window, singing. You know her skin grafts were severely damaged after the altercations following Coin's and Snow's deaths, so at first she was put on a high level dose of morphling. But they've recently begun to reduce it...the concern is there that she has a complete disregard for the possibility of continued life."

Peeta felt his stomach drop. "They think she wants to die," he said flatly.

"It appears that way," Aurelius replied softly.

"And people still aren't allowed to see her, knowing this?" He hated knowing that Katniss was alone - he'd hated it from the first moment he'd been told, the same day her trial had been unceremoniously announced to the entire country. That she'd been sequestered in the old Training Centre, in solitary confinement, where she was to await her fate. Not even Haymitch had been given permission to see her.

Aurelius shook his head sadly. "No. No one sees her, speaks with her; that hasn't changed. They're just using internal monitors to keep an eye on her. You have to remember that she's a prisoner, Peeta, one charged with murder. Charged with assassinating the President of Panem. They won't allow her special privileges."

"But that's bullshit," Peeta snapped. "Anyone could see that Katniss was just doing the right thing, doing what needed to be done. You heard the decision Coin had come to, hadn't you? There was no _way_ that could have been allowed to happen. And now they're just going to let her die?"

"Yes I did hear," Aurelius said calmly. "And I agree with you. Coin might have been my leader in Thirteen, but this decision was not one that should have been made, even considered. But let me reassure you that I'm continuing to do all I can to try and make sure that Katniss isn't convicted of the charges. And we _won't_ let her die." He chanced a glance at the clock, sighed quietly. "I'm sorry, Peeta, it's almost time for me to go. But before I do, I wanted to check if you'd given any more thought to what I asked you last session?"

"What's that?"

"Have you decided what you're going to do? Where you're going to go?"

It had been one of their constant conversations over the past few weeks - Peeta's innate sense of displacement, his not knowing where he belonged, wondering where he should go. The only thing he did know was that staying in the Capitol was not an option.

"I...I've thought about it a lot," Peeta admitted. _It's all he_ _did_ _think about, when he wasn't thinking about Katniss_. "I still just don't know."

"You have options," Aurelius said smoothly. "You can return to Thirteen if you wish, or Two, and work with Cressida and Pollux at the CMH when it's up and running. I'm certain Finnick and Annie would love to have you live in Four near them."

"Yeah, I know," Peeta nodded. Finnick and Annie had told him, just before they'd left, that he was welcome anytime. "I just need to think about it a little more."

"Okay," Aurelius acquiesced. "Just remember what I told you, though."

"What's that?"

The doctor rose, adjusted the sleeves of his jacket so they sat back over his wrists. "Just try and pick somewhere that feels like home. After everything you've been through, you deserve that."

Peeta watched him walk away, and wondered if he'd ever find anywhere that felt like home again.

* * *

It could have been weeks, months, years, that had passed - she didn't know for sure. All she knew was that the feeling of Haymitch's chest against her cheek and his arm under her bony knees felt like the first human contact Katniss had ever had.

Her skin resembled sandpaper, dry and coarse. Her throat felt parched, her stomach emptier than it had ever been in her life. She was thin, thin enough that her thumb and forefinger easily looped around her wrist with ample room to spare, her ribs clear enough to be counted individually, her hipbones protruding at sharp angles.

She was a mess, barely coping without the morphling they'd slowly weaned her off. But she was alive.

And she was going home.

Her old quarters in the Training Centre - empty of furnishings, barely even a sheet on the bed - had been her jail cell while she waited to be told if she was to meet the same fate as President Coin. She'd resolved herself to die, whether by her choice or theirs.

But then Haymitch had come in, scooped her battered body into his arms, and carried her outside to a waiting hovercraft that lifted into the air with barely a sound.

His words were inflection free as he told her everything that had happened in the 5 weeks since her trial had begun. How, with the assistance of rousing testimonies from Plutarch and Dr Aurelius, she'd been painted as a girl gone mad with grief, and the atrocities of war. How she'd not been fully aware of what she was doing, the actions she'd been taking, when she'd chosen to take the life of Coin instead of Snow.

She'd been acquitted, due to insanity, but with the condition that she return to Twelve and not leave there again for a period of no less than ten years. He'd been appointed her official guardian.

Regardless of whether Twelve existed in the way she remembered it or not, Katniss thought it was the best news she'd heard in a long time. To be sequestered to Twelve. To be removed from the Capitol. To not have to see any of these people again.

She welcomed it.

Haymitch told her everything else he knew: Snow was dead, a victim of asphyxiation following the riots that ensued post-Coin's death. Commander Paylor had been sworn in as President, Commander Lyme the new head of Panem National Security. Plutarch, meanwhile, had parlayed his role in the Rebellion into the position of Minister for Communication.

The Odairs had returned to Four and were expecting a child; Johanna had gone back to Seven with little fanfare and a promise she'd never return to the Capitol for as long as she lived. Cressida and Pollux were in Two, setting up a new media centre and coordinating media coverage in the Districts as they began to recover. Gale was there too, helping to establish order in the Peacekeeper training barracks, and would likely remain there long-term.

Her mother had gone to Four to help out at a new hospital, and part of Katniss wondered if she'd ever see her again. Twelve probably held too many bad memories, and Katniss was restricted from leaving. Without explicitly saying so, it was clear why Haymitch had been designated as her guardian over her mother - Alice was done with Twelve.

As for Peeta...his family was gone, killed during the fighting. He'd refused Paylor's offer of retaining the role of Official Photographer, but was staying in the Capitol for the foreseeable future. Haymitch hadn't seen him in weeks.

She mentally quashed the small kernel of hope that had bloomed inside her that he'd have remembered her - and _them_ \- by now, that he would be waiting in Twelve for her. But there was no more hope. They were over. Done.

In the end, there were only three question she wanted to ask Haymitch in return.

"Was it theirs?" She asked, in a voice rusty and broken with disuse. He didn't even need her to clarify.

"I don't know for sure. But...it does look like their prototype was used."

"You didn't know what was going to happen?" He shook his head firmly, and she swallowed heavily as she prepared herself for the next question. "And did you know...did you know they sent her there?"

She watched as his face turned to stone, as his hand slipped into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small flask with an unsteady hand. "I would have razed Thirteen to the ground if I'd known before they sent her," he growled, lifting the flask to his lips and swallowing deeply. The detox in Thirteen hadn't lasted, but she couldn't blame him. Maybe he'd been right all along, and dulling the pain into oblivion was the right way to go. "Still tossed that damned conference room of hers to shit when I did find out."

She stared at him for a moment, imagined him turning over tables, kicking at chairs, smashing the electronic boards to smithereens over her sister. "Okay," she finally said quietly, and with nothing left to say, closed her eyes.

Katniss slept the rest of the way home.

* * *

She continued on much like she had in the Capitol. She barely ate, barely drank, barely slept. And when she did, the nightmares chased her out again just as quickly, reminding her that she could never escape them. Her nightmares were an Arena she was never getting out of.

She didn't shower, her singed hair a matted mess on her head, her healing skin sticking to the thin pants and top she'd left the Capitol in. She stared at the unused fireplace, the idea of setting it alight sending fear through her every time she thought about it. So instead she huddled under the blanket she'd dragged from her bed, never quite getting warm enough, and still not caring.

Sae visited her twice a day, put food on the table that Katniss reluctantly picked at, tried to initiate conversation here and there until it was clear Katniss had no intention of speaking back. But even though she never spoke to her, the old woman still came, without fail, every day. And despite everything, Katniss felt some kind of comfort in that knowledge. If she had nothing else, at least she had Sae.

A month had passed when she heard the scratching at the back door late in the afternoon. At first she thought it was Sae, having forgotten whatever key she had to let herself in, and did nothing, simply waited for the woman to give up and go away. But when it continued incessantly, accompanied by a high pitched screech that failed to end, Katniss finally dragged herself off the sofa, the blanket draped over her like a cape, and crossed to open the door.

She didn't expect to see the mangy orange fur, the sharp teeth, this hissing breath. The eyes that, unexpectedly, spoke of sadness. Somehow, the dumb, stupid cat of her sister's had travelled all the way from Thirteen to Twelve.

He'd come home to find Prim. And instead, he'd found Katniss.

At first they hissed at each other, scowled at each other, and if he'd been human, he probably would have yelled at Katniss right back when she began to scream at him. But later that night, in an unspoken truce borne only from their joined grief at losing Prim, Katniss and Buttercup laid on her sofa, and cried themselves to sleep.

* * *

The hum of the hovercraft was subtle, a soft drone that wasn't unpleasant - he was used to it by now. But the thrill of the feeling of lifting into the air, the slight jump he'd always used to feel in his stomach, had all but disappeared. These days, there was nothing fun about hovercrafts. They just made him think of things he didn't want to think about.

Peeta took that final step off the gangplank, the ground soft and spongy under his feet; the grass was green, the dirt slightly damp, telling him it had rained recently. Even while he was focusing on that, he could hear the hovercraft begin to lift into the air, and disappear into the sky.

There was no going back now.

He hitched his bag higher up on his shoulder, the lone piece of luggage he'd brought with him. It carried little more than his cameras, and a few changes of clothes - everything else he'd owned was gone, and nothing in the mansion had held any interest for to him take.

In the end, there'd only been one option that made sense to him. Four, despite the appeal of living close to Finnick and Annie, didn't feel like home in the week he'd spent there a month earlier, seeing if it was 'right'. Johanna had half-heartedly extended an invitation to him to live in Seven, though both knew she did it out of obligation more than wanting to. But when he'd actually sat down for a moment and closed his eyes, focusing on the word _home_ , there was only one place that had come to mind.

Aurelius hadn't been shocked when he'd told him his decision. Over the 6 weeks following the end of Katniss' trial, he'd continued with their sessions, allowing the doctor to trial additional types of tests and exercises, hoping they could rebuild those missing parts of his memory. Nothing had helped, but he found that, with Aurelius' assistance, he was finding it easier to move on, to accept that some parts of him would never be the same, would never be able to be found.

But the doctor was apparently more astute than even Peeta had thought he was, and the older man hadn't blinked an eye when Peeta told him he'd requested a hovercraft take him to Twelve. He'd simply told him to say hello to Katniss and Haymitch, and to tell them he was only a phone call away if they wanted to talk.

Taking a deep breath, Peeta began walking up the street, heading towards the Capitol house. It wasn't ideal - after spending so long in a city he despised, he didn't really want to stay in a house that had any direct association with it. But he had no choice - upon hearing of his decision on where to live, President Paylor had gifted him the house, telling him it was the least she could do.

He didn't have the heart to tell the new President of his own country, the new President who was intent on doing things _right_ , that he didn't want her gift.

Peeta paused at the bottom of the stairs to the porch, looked up the street, at the rows of houses on either side. He remembered the first time he'd seen this street, the first time he'd stood on this porch - the way the snow had blanketed everything into a sea of white, the way everything had seemed so _real_.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Part of him wasn't surprised when he saw Haymitch Abernathy step out his front door and lean against the porch railing, his eyes boring into Peeta. After all, a lone man walking up an otherwise empty street stood out in stark relief. But Haymitch - his dark hair unkempt, his greying shirt untucked - didn't call out in greeting, didn't lift a hand. He simply nodded his head, just once.

Peeta returned it before he ascended the last few stairs, unlocked the door he'd probably unlocked a hundred times before, and closed it behind him.

All he could think about was the fact that, across the other side of the street, the Everdeen house had looked utterly abandoned.

* * *

The nightmares, he'd expected. But Peeta hadn't expected them to be as sharp, as bright, as heart-wrenching as they were. They were still of his family, still of Prim, still of bombs exploding in the hands of children.

But then there were the ones of Katniss. The ones where she didn't make it out of the sewers, the ones where he wasn't able to drag her back from running towards the silver parachutes. The ones where he had her in his arms, and then she was gone again, disappeared into thin air, and he didn't know where she was.

He didn't know for sure what he wanted, didn't know if he wanted Katniss or not. Snow had taken that assurity, had taken that past, those memories, that knowledge away from him. But some bonds, Peeta discovered, could never be broken.

Whether he wanted her or not, he realised he _needed_ her. And to him, that spoke volumes.

He spent days gathering up the courage to see her, nervously trying to decide what to say. And in the end, he realised that nothing he ever practiced would ever feel right; for Katniss, he got the impression that actions had always spoken louder than words.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Katniss heard the knock on her front door. At first, much like when Buttercup had returned, she ignored it, expecting whoever it was to go away, to give up; sure enough, after trying for 5 more minutes, they finally relented. The satisfaction that they'd left her alone was grim, but it was satisfaction nonetheless.

Half an hour later, when she reluctantly rose to use the small powder room off the main foyer, she saw the rectangular envelope lying in the middle of the floor, slipped under the small gap at the bottom of the door.

It was almost like she did it without thinking - she crossed to it, bending down and picking the envelope up with two fingers, as though it would bite her if she held it any tighter. She wasn't sure what she expected when she opened it, but she didn't expect to see the card covered in a familiar scrawl, one she hadn't seen in a long time.

_I thought you might like this. I found it on one of my memory chips and had it printed out and...well, it's yours. Peeta._

Her eyes widened and she flipped the card over, her hands beginning to shake once she saw what it was. It was a picture of her and Prim, sitting in their backyard, laughing together. She couldn't even remember it being taken, couldn't even place it in a point of time to try and get some kind of idea of when it was. But it was a photo of her, and of Prim. They were happy. And it was taken by Peeta.

_Peeta._

_Peeta?_

She stumbled across the smooth wooden floors and flung open her front door, her hands shaking, her heart racing as her eyes scanned the front yard wildly. And then she saw him, sitting on the front porch of the Capitol house. He did nothing but tip his head slightly to her, the faintest of smiles curving the right side of his mouth.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and she gripped the doorframe to steady herself.

Peeta had come to Twelve.

* * *

It was another two days before Peeta saw her again, two days before he got up the courage to walk out of his house the moment he saw Sae coming up the road, and offered to escort her inside the Everdeen house.

He'd been there for an hour, nibbling on the bread he'd baked fresh that morning and making small talk, when Katniss finally stumbled downstairs, her eyes bleary, her hand covering her yawning mouth. It didn't take long to realise that since he'd seen her framed in the front door of her house, she'd obviously bathed, her hair brushed, her skin baby pink and tender and freshly soothed with salve, and was wearing clothes that looked new and clean.

She stopped in her tracks, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"Mornin', girl," Sae greeted, as though it were any other morning. "Peeta here brought over some bread for ya to eat. I wasn't expectin' ya to sleep in so late, and I made plans to head off early. But Peeta can keep ya company for a lil' while, alright?" She rose to her feet, collecting her plate and moving over to place it in the sink. "I'll be back for supper."

And then she was gone, and Peeta didn't know whether he or Katniss were more surprised by how quick the exit had been.

"Hi Katniss," he murmured. "I, uh, hope you don't mind that I came over with Sae."

She stared at him, almost as though she didn't think he was real. "What are you doing here?" She managed to choke out.

"Breakfast?"

"No," she hissed. " _Here_. In Twelve."

"Oh. I had nowhere else to go," he admitted, and he wondered how pitiful he sounded. "I couldn't stay in the Capitol."

She folded her arms across her waist, her fingers wrapping tightly around her bony elbows. "Haymitch told me you were."

"Only so long as to finish up some testing with Dr Aurelius. After that, I had to decide where I wanted to live."

Katniss blinked. "You _chose_ to live her? You...you weren't sent here like I was?"

He shook his head. "No. I wanted to come here. He told me to go somewhere that felt like home."

"And Twelve felt like home?"

"Yeah. For some reason it did." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck nervously. "But if you don't want me here-"

"No!" The word burst from her, and the surprise on her face at how loud - and how quickly - she responded, was clear. "I mean...I do. I don't want you to go." She licked her lips, lips that were dry and cracked. "I think Twelve will be good for you. And you said yourself...you said yourself you liked the trees here."

"I did," Peeta agreed. "I mean, I do."

She nodded then, and they fell into silence, neither sure of what to say. In the end, Peeta rose to his feet, shuffled them nervously. "I should go. I have some work to do."

"Work?"

"It's not really work, I suppose. I promised Aurelius that I'd start taking photographs again. He told me I need to, to try and get back to some semblance of normalcy, so…" he trailed off. "Anyway, I'm going to go out. Take some photos."

"Okay."

"I'll come back for breakfast tomorrow?"

"If you want."

"I want. After all, we're friends, right?"

The smile ghosted across her lips, and it was gone again so quickly he almost thought he imagined it.

* * *

Later, Katniss watched him climb the trellis, watched as he positioned himself on the roof of the porch of the Capitol house, capturing various angles of the Village. And she remembered the first photo he'd taken of her from that spot, the portrait of a Victor who was isolated and alone, who wouldn't let anyone in.

But she'd let him in anyway.

Her nightmares were the worst she'd had in a long time that night, and she cursed the fact that Peeta was so close, and yet so far.

* * *

Katniss wasn't exactly sure when, or how, it changed. It crept up on them, like Winter had done to Fall - one minute the leaves were golden and on the trees, the next they'd been stripped, leaving the branches bare and frozen in the chilly air. Much like how one Saturday morning they went from calmly going about their usual routine of baking bread and cookies to suddenly kissing themselves breathless against the kitchen counter.

When Peeta had first returned and reached out to her with the photograph of Prim, Katniss had already resigned herself to the fact that they were done, that she would have to be content with him as a friend. _At least he was in her life_ , she told herself. _At least he wasn't lost to her forever._

So they'd begun to _really_ be friends - he would join her and Sae in the mornings for breakfast, he'd wave to her as he'd tromp around the village - or back from the woods - with his camera in hand. After months of self-imposed solitary confinement, Peeta had gotten Haymitch out of his own house, and twice a week the old mentor would join them for dinner. He never said much - rarely about anything beyond the geese he'd begun raising in his front yard 'for lack of anything better to do' - but he was there, flask in hand.

But gradually she began to see a shift in Peeta's behaviour, in the way he looked at her, in the way he spoke to her. Only the month before, he'd stopped in the middle of a sentence, his words trailing off as his gaze had locked on her lower lip, as his tongue had darted out to wet his own.

She'd blushed and looked away, and he'd made some excuse and run out, not returning for breakfast for another two days. And when he had, they'd sat on her front stoop, an awkwardness she hadn't felt in a long time building between them. But when he opened his mouth to speak, she'd been shocked at the words that had tumbled out.

_He'd inhaled deeply, had scrubbed a hand across his face. "I've tried sleeping at the Capitol house, but I can't. Not properly. The nightmares I have there...I just keep thinking of my family and...everyone. And Haymitch…" Peeta trailed off. "His house isn't really suitable for guests. Not long term."_

" _I'm not surprised," she'd murmured. She hadn't ventured inside in a long time, but it wasn't hard to imagine._

" _I just - I have nowhere else to go. And it's probably too much, but I was wondering if...if...I could stay here. Just for awhile. Just until I feel okay about staying in the Capitol house again. I know you have nightmares too - I can hear you. I just thought maybe...at least having someone else in the house might help." She'd felt her face go pale, then red, then pale again, and her hand had tightened around the rung of the step. He'd shaken his head, hurriedly risen to his feet, his own face aflame. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's okay. I'll ask Haymitch. It would be too we-"_

" _Yes." Her voice had been quiet, barely more than a whisper, but it had still been more than enough for him to stop, for his eyes to brighten, even just the slightest. "Yes, of course you can stay here."_

So he had.

He'd moved into the guest room downstairs, and while neither of their nightmares abated completely, there _was_ a comfort in knowing that he was downstairs, just a hall and a staircase away. And so they got into a simple routine, learnt how to be housemates, and if she occasionally wished for more, she ignored it. _That wasn't why Peeta was here_ , she told herself firmly, every time. _He's here as your friend._

Which was exactly what she thought until the moment he was laughing at a streak of flour on her cheek, when she flicked a wooden spoon towards him in retaliation, batter splattering across his shirt. And then somehow, before either of them knew it, his hands were on her cheeks, brushing away the flour, his mouth covering hers and - in the only way she could describe it - devouring her.

It was like coming home and something new all rolled into one.

* * *

Peeta knew he shouldn't have kissed her, had known the moment he did that it would change things forever. But he hadn't been able to stop himself - the look on her face as the batter had hit his shirt had been the most carefree he'd seen in a long time, her smile wide and genuine and real. Her eyes had been bright and her hair - finally beginning to grow out again - had hung over her shoulder in a messy plait, wayward strands drifting over her forehead.

And the need to kiss her like the only time he'd ever remembered ran through him, faster and deeper than anything he'd ever felt in his life. It had made his heart pound, his stomach hurt, made him feel lightheaded and breathless. So he'd kissed her, and he hadn't given a damn about the consequences, about the ramifications. Especially when her hands had gripped his forearms, and she'd kissed him back.

It was like coming home and something new all rolled into one.

* * *

They took their time - a hug here, a gentle brush of a hand there, a walk in the afternoon to the rotunda where she told him they'd once spent so much time together.

They talked; about those they'd lost, those who were starting their lives over, those who were slowly but surely returning to Twelve from Thirteen.

They watched as the District got rebuilt, as a new Justice Building appeared, as ground got broken on a new pharmaceutical factory, as Seam and Merchant folk forgot about the divide that had once separated them.

They watched as Haymitch stumbled over geese that were wilier than he'd probably expected them to be, watched as Delly Cartwright moved into a house at the end of the Village, with Thom Wilkinson following two weeks later, a suitcase in hand and a grin on his face.

They watched as the meadow, the resting place for those who had lost their lives in the bombing of Twelve, began to bloom again, the grass as green as they'd ever seen, wildflowers swaying in the soft breeze.

Eventually, their nightmares drew them together at night; while Peeta couldn't remember, Katniss knew the solace and comfort that his embrace had once brought her, that his arms and the soft and steady beat of his heart under her ear as she rested her head on his chest had always left her nightmare free. So when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa one night, and had awoken the next morning wrapped around each other after an uninterrupted night's sleep, they didn't spend another one apart.

But they didn't kiss again, not like they had in her kitchen that day. Not until spring had arrived and the sun streamed through the window of her bedroom, rousing them both from sleep. He'd gently run a finger across her cheek, and her breath had caught, and then he'd leant in, tentatively at first. Then desperately, then needily, hungrily. They were both gasping for breath when Katniss pulled away, when she rested her forehead against his and asked, full of nerves, if he could ever love her again like he had before.

He told her he already did.

* * *

There was moonlight, and the gentle sounds of the wooden chimes that Delly had hung on her back porch. There were sighs, and moans, and gentle murmurings of assurances; strangled gasps and whispers of names. There were gentle touches along thighs, open mouthed kisses over chests, down necks, and tender spots beneath ears. There was the rhythmic sounds of flesh sliding against flesh, of bodies moving against each other, of hands clutching eagerly as they raced to a finish, mouths fusing together in desperation.

Peeta never remembered their first time. But he never forgot their second.


	30. Epilogue

The sun began to set behind the woods, fingers of light stretching through the trees and bathing Victors Village in a warm, golden glow. To Peeta, it always looked its best at this time of year, in the fall when the leaves were starting to turn and were beginning to take on the bronzes, the reds, the yellows, the oranges, the golds that had always been his favourite.

_He never imagined he'd end up somewhere like here._

Peeta lifted his camera, closed his left eye so he could focus with his right. Through the viewfinder, the houses in Victor's Village looked picturesque, almost like they'd been painted into place with their fanciful trims and flower laden trellises, the brightly coloured foliage of the trees behind them a stunning backdrop.

He took half a dozen images before lowering the camera back to his lap, a smile slowly creeping across his face. From where he sat, he could hear Haymitch grousing at his geese, threatening to send them back with Effie to the Capitol if they didn't shut up. He could see Delly and Thom in their front yard working in their vegetable garden, caught the faint whistle of the train that announced its imminent departure to Ten.

But it was the three people walking across the grass towards him that caused him to smile.

The girl danced in excitement, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and a ragged tear in the knee of her pants. The boy kicked his legs in his eagerness to join her, his hand patting the cheek of his mother in an attempt to get her to lower him from his place on her hip. Then _she_ looked up at him, all silver eyes and wavy onyx hair chopped off just below her shoulders, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

And he scrambled to lift his camera again, to quickly capture the moment before it disappeared.

"Hey," she called, lifting her free hand to cover her eyes from the last rays of the sun. "What are you doing up there?"

Peeta looked around at the tiled porch roof of the old Capitol house, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's a good angle," he said simply.

"Oh." She nodded slightly in recognition, hitched the boy higher up on her hip. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"But I'm done now," he told her, holding the camera over the edge of the roof - she lifted up on her tiptoes and grasped it carefully, making sure it was out of the reach of sticky, pudgy hands. He rose to his feet, turning to shimmy down one of the porch posts until his feet hit the ground again. She held the camera back out to him, and he took it, hooking the strap over his neck before reaching for her hand and clutching it tightly.

"Hi," he murmured, leaning close and pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Hi," she replied softly. "You ready to head over to Haymitch's for dinner?"

He nodded, another smile tugging at his mouth. "Can't believe the old man has hit 60."

"Don't remind him," she warned, though her own eyes shone in amusement. "It's just _dinner_."

"Of course it is. Because Effie and the Odairs always just come out here for _dinner_." Katniss laughed, and even after all these years, it was still music to his ears.

"Daaaaaaaad, let's go!" The girl tugged on the hem of his t-shirt, and he looked down into bright blue eyes that were identical to his. "I'm hungwy!"

"Go on ahead then, we'll meet you there," Peeta said, and she didn't take a second to pause, scrambling up the street calling out _Gwampa Haymish!_ in excitement. The boy let out a yelp of disappointment that he wasn't going with her, was quickly shushed by a quiet murmur and a tickle to the belly from Katniss as they slowly began to follow her.

Sometimes Peeta wondered how he'd gotten so lucky.

No, he definitely never imagined he'd end up here. Never imagined he'd end up happily living his life in Twelve, sharing his life with Katniss, bringing two children he loved beyond all comprehension into the world.

But he had.

There were times he still hated not remembering those early days, not being able to remember moments that Katniss could still relay to him as though they'd happened only yesterday. Hated that so many of the things that he _could_ remember filled his heart with sorrow and sadness, hated knowing that so many of the same memories sometimes still woke Katniss in the middle of the night screaming, still made it hard for her to get out of bed on the first day of the year that snow fell.

But he and Katniss had already made new memories in the almost twenty years they'd been together, would continue to make even more; with each other, with their children, with their friends. Memories that were brighter,happier. Real.

And in the end, he knew it didn't matter what he'd forgotten; it was what he remembered that mattered most.

_My name is Peeta Mellark. I'm 42 years old. I live in District Twelve. I was a part of the Rebellion, and helped to end the Hunger Games, helped to bring about change in Panem._

_I lost a family in the Capitol. But I gained one with Katniss Everdeen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started this fic for Prompts in Panem in September 2013, I never expected it to turn into this. Never expected it to be as long, or as expansive, or that it would take me two years to finish it, haha. But...here it is. Done. Finished.
> 
> Thank you to every single person who has read, bookmarked, kudo'd and reviewed this story. Thank you to those who helped me brainstorm, who read over sections I needed reassurance on, who gave me encouragement (and sometimes a good old fashioned kick up the ass) along the way. Thank you all, every single one of you, for helping me get to the end.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think, either here or on tumblr, where I'm under sponsormusings as well.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Many thanks to Jeeno2, MalTease and Salanderjade for their advice, pre-reading, assistance with a title and their general awesomeness with helping me with this story, and over this PiP week. I couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> This is for salanderjade, who said "remember a scene in Bridges of Madison County when she's watching him take photos?", and BOOM, idea. Thanks, lady. Happy birthday.


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